


A Heartshaped Box of Springs and Wires

by CaptainLeBubbles



Series: A Point Called Z In the Complex Plane [1]
Category: Gravity Falls
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canon Divergence - A Tale of Two Stans, Gen, Mullet Grunkle Stan, Single Dad Stan Pines, gratuitous flirting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-14
Updated: 2018-04-18
Packaged: 2019-03-31 10:15:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 72,556
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13972896
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CaptainLeBubbles/pseuds/CaptainLeBubbles
Summary: Ford had imagined a thousand different scenarios for how his brother was faring after ten years of estrangement, but in none of those scenarios did he imagine his brother might have had children somewhere along the way.Or, the one where Stan turns up on Ford's doorstep with a toddler, and even Ford isn't sure what to do with this information.





	1. The One Where Stan Has a Baby

**Author's Note:**

> For those reading this on Tumblr: Please be aware that a lot of the gaps have been filled and the scenes that you have read may have been altered, so this isn't what you've been reading for the past couple weeks.
> 
> For those who are new here: Don't worry, Dipper will turn up eventually. There's reasons both in-universe and out why he isn't with Stan to begin with, so just be patient. I haven't split the babies up, at least not for long.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In all fairness, it's their mother's fault for not warning Ford about Stan's daughter when she gave him Stan's address. Of course Ford never would have considered the possibility on his own.

“Okay... you can do this, Stan. You haven’t seen your brother in ten years, but you can do this.”

Stan took a deep breath and shifted his precious load to one arm so he could knock with the other, and before he could do much more the door opened and a crossbow was pointed at them.

“Who are you? Have you come to steal my eyes?!”

Stan made an angry noise and turned away, shielding the little bundle with his own body, and glared at Ford, who had already started lowering the crossbow in stunned shock.

“...I didn’t know you had a child,” he said numbly.

“Yeah, cause _that’s_ the problem here,” Stan groused, pushing past him and storming into the house. “You could have killed her, what are you doing answering the door like that anyway?”

“I-” He blinked, and looked down at the crossbow still held at the ready, albeit pointed away from Stan and the little girl still- somehow- asleep in his arms. “That’s... a long story.”

His eyes kept flickering to the child, like he still couldn’t believe it.

“When-” He faltered. He looked dead on his feet, held together by spit and duct tape, heavy bags under his eyes betraying how little sleep he’d gotten. His gaze trailed down to her again. “When did you-”

“That’s a long story,” Stan echoed, and it was not one he was interested in telling right now. “Do you have anywhere I can put her? We’ve been driving practically non-stop since I got your postcard, she needs to sleep somewhere that isn’t a carseat.”

“Yes, of course.” Something about his words snapped Ford out of his stupor, and he slipped into work-mode. He’d always done a lot better with something to focus on, and hopefully by the time Stan got her settled Ford would have processed this most recent revelation enough to tell Stan what the hell he brought him here for.

Ford led Stan through the house to what looked like a study: there was a hideously ugly shag carpet on the floor, a wraparound couch, a desk, and a lot of odds and ends that Stan couldn’t identify. He grabbed some blankets from the closet and set up a makeshift bed on one end of the couch, and Stan set the toddler down carefully, tucking the blankets around her until she seemed comfortable. It was a lot colder up here in Oregon than it was in New Mexico, and the heater in the car wasn’t the best: it was the first chance he’d had to properly warm her up since they started getting to the colder parts of the country.

She woke up while he was tucking her in, big brown eyes locked on his as she drifted from sleep to alert.

“Papa?” she mumbled sleepily.

“Shh, it’s okay.” He reached over to brush her hair out of her face. “I’m right here, Pumpkin. Go back to sleep.”

For a moment it seemed like she was going to fight him on the suggestion, trying to stay awake through sheer willpower, but she didn’t sleep well in moving vehicles and they’d been driving almost nonstop for about thirty hours, so it was only a moment or two, a moment or two that Stan spent murmuring assurances at her, before she drifted back off to sleep. He sighed. Okay. Time to see what Ford wanted.

He stood and turned to find Ford peeking around the doorway at him, fist pressed to his mouth and eyes blown wide, looking just as exhausted as Stan felt- more, honestly. And he was watching Stan with a look that Stan couldn’t identify or interpret.

For a moment after Stan joined him in the hallway, pulling the door almost, but not entirely, closed, the two stared at each other in silence, Ford opening and closing his mouth a few times like he was trying to say something that wouldn’t come out.

“What’s her name?” he finally managed, earning a tired snort from Stan.

“Mabel,” Stan said, pinching the bridge of his nose. He was so tired- it hit him that he’d been driving almost nonstop for about thirty hours, and all he wanted was to sleep. “Her name is Mabel.”

Stan just wanted to sleep, but he needed to know what Ford brought him here for. If nothing else, he wasn’t leaving Mabel in this house until he knew that whatever made his brother answer the door with a crossbow wasn’t going to be a threat to her. He’d leave before he stayed here if staying here would put her in danger.

And he’d take Ford with him, by force if necessary, if that was what he had to do to help _him_.

“All right, so what’s going on?”

Ford was fumbling with a book in his hand, and he gave Stan a sharp look, a hard, searching one. “I’ve made mistakes, Stanley,” he said quietly. “I don’t know who I can trust.”

 _So you called me_ , Stan thought, and tried to process how that made him feel- sad and confused and hopeful and a little angry, too. He moved over to his brother, rested a hand on his shoulder. “Hey, hey come on. Whatever is going on, we can talk it through. I’m here now. It’s gonna be okay.”

Ford’s hand was shaking around the book he was clinging to, and after a moment the indecision in his face was replaced by a determined looked. “Okay. Come with me, and I’ll show you.”

-/-

The lift was rickety and Stan wasn’t sure he trusted it- how far down did it go? From this perspective depth was just height turned on its head, after all- so he distracted himself by watching Ford. His brother was trembling, his whole body practically vibrating. He was clutching that book like a lifeline, like if he let it go the world would fall apart.

“Yeesh, Sixer, when was the last time you slept?”

Ford’s face snapped over to meet Stan’s, pupils blown wide and real fear on his face. “D-don’t call me that,” he pleaded. And boy, did that sting, but Stan raised his hands in surrender anyway, and Ford returned his gaze to the wall.

“I can’t sleep,” he said. “Not until- not until I- I don’t know,” he admitted. “I don’t know what to do. But I know I can’t sleep.”

Before Stan could respond, the elevator stopped and slid open. Ford led Stan into the basement lab, and over to a... giant triangle on stilts, as best as he could guess. He stared. It felt... ominous. Angry. _Dangerous_.

“I do not understand any of this,” he admitted.

“It’s a portal,” Ford explained, shifting slightly into lecture mode. As kids that had always annoyed Stan, but now it was almost a relief to see that there was at least some of his brother still tucked away in this weird, paranoid mess. “A punched hole through dimensions. I built it to see beyond our world and obtain knowledge, but I was...” He trailed off, something sad passing across his face, and shook his head. “The portal is dangerous,” he finally said. “I turned it off and buried my journals, but I can’t trust-”

He broke off again, staring down at the book in his hands. It was burgundy, their shared favorite color, with a golden six-fingered handprint on the front, bearing a heavy black one. His fingers tightened on the book, and Stan let him steady himself.

“I was going to ask you to help me dispose of it,” he admitted quietly. “I can’t trust myself to hide it, because I’ll find it- _He’ll_ find it, if I know where it is- someone else could use the plans- I should just destroy them but this is all of my research, _years_ of my life, I can’t just... I can’t destroy it.” He hugged the book to his chest. “But I can’t ask you to do that, you’ve got- you’ve got Mabel. You can’t just... go gallivanting off to hide a book from me.”

Stan watched his brother, clutching that spooky book like it was the only thing holding him together, swaying slightly on his feet, trembling violently, and altogether falling entirely apart. His eyes narrowed, he saw red, and before they knew it he’d snatched the book out of Ford’s hand and was flipping through it.

The detailed drawings and notes were impressive, and Stan felt a brief spark of that familiar pride he’d always felt when they were kids, when his brother did something to show just how amazing he was. He ignored that in favor of gathering the pages that looked like blueprints, plans, and instructions in one hand and holding them up for Ford to see.

“These pages are the plans, right?”

Ford nodded slowly. “Yes, but I don’t see- wait what are you- ...oh.” He stared, stunned, as Stan ripped the offending pages out and thumped the book back into Ford’s hands.

“Why didn’t I think of that?” Ford whispered, while Stan took out his lighter and flicked it a few times. It didn’t take long before they’d caught fire, and they both watch silently as the pages curled up in flame before Stan dropped them to the floor and stamped on them a few times.

“Because you’re an idiot,” Stan said. He put an arm around Ford, digging his fingers reassuringly into his twin’s shoulder, and steered him back toward the elevator. “Come on, Poindexter. We can figure out the rest of our plan in the morning. Right now you need to get some sleep.”

-/-

“That isn’t my bedroom,” Ford said, when he realized Stan was leading him to the room he’d put Mabel in. Stan nodded.

“And if it was, that’d be kinda sad. But I don’t think you’ll be able to sleep on your own tonight, and I’m not leaving Mabel to sleep on _her_ own, so you’ll be sleeping in here with both of us. And that way I can keep watch for whatever is spooking you.”

Ford gave him a stunned look, but Stan ignored that as he pushed Ford over to the couch, settled him on the opposite end, and went to track down some more blankets. Ten years they hadn’t seen each other, ten years filled with anger and resentment and bitterness and wounds that had never truly healed, and here Stan was, talking about protecting him like he wasn’t just as dead on his feet as Ford was.

Something in Ford’s center clenched painfully at that, and he decided he didn’t want to think about it too hard. He just needed to… he needed to rest. Sleep, no, that wouldn’t be coming easily, but he could rest at least. And when he eventually grew too restless and rose back up, he could let Stan get some much-needed sleep of his own.

Stan had gotten the journal back at some point, Ford wasn’t sure when, and once he had Ford lying down he settled down with it at the desk. The room was dark except for the moonlight shining through the window and the little penlight Stan was using to read by; silent but for the soft sounds of Mabel’s breathing and the occasional rustle as Stan flipped through the pages of the journal. It was oddly soothing, the most comfortable Ford had been in ages. He lay in quiet listening to his brother and niece in the dark and waited for the restlessness that he knew would come soon.

While Ford was trying to rest, he heard Mabel stir. He lay still in that strange, cosy place he’d fallen into, alert just enough in case there was need but doubting there would be and not sure how he’d handle it if there was.

And indeed, while Ford lay listening, he heard her slide carefully off of the couch and pad over to the desk, where Stan still sat hunched over the journal, fingers tapping idly on the desk while he read.

Ford cracked his eyes open a touch, just enough to watch as Mabel tugged on Stan’s shirttail with one hand, rubbing at her eyes with the other. Stan turned to her, then set the journal aside and lifted her into his lap, letting her settle against him.

“Couldn’t sleep?” he asked softly, and she nodded against his chest. He chuckled. “It’s hard to sleep somewhere new, isn’t it?” She nodded again, and he stroked her hair gently. “It’s okay. I’m right here if you get scared. I’ll always be right here.”

This seemed to reassure Mabel, because she stilled against him, and soon her breathing had evened out into sleep. Stan looked fondly down at her, then stood carefully and carried her back over to the couch to tuck her back in.

“I love you so much,” he murmured, once he’d settled her blankets around her. She stirred slightly, but didn’t wake, and he leaned forward to kiss her goodnight before returning to the desk.

-/-

The room was empty and twilit when Ford woke up, but there were blankets piled on the short end of the couch and the smell of pancakes filled the house. He quieted the normal panic that came from waking up these days, taking stock of his surroundings. Apart from the blankets and the pancakes, there was nothing amiss about the room or the house, nothing to put him on high alert (well, higher alert than usual).

He got up, making his slow way through the house, following the smell of pancakes while his gaze darted everywhere, looking for anything- well, anything. And then he came to the kitchen door, and stopped.

Ford was, he had to admit, still processing the fact of his twin being a father. It was a possibility that had never occurred to him, in all of the scenarios he had imagined his brother living in over the past decade: he’d pictured everything from rich Vegas playboy, squandering his millions and not caring about anyone but himself, to just an ordinary guy at a dead-end job, dreaming of treasure and never, ever learning from his mistakes.

He’d always imagined him alone, though. Alone just like Ford was alone, for all that he’d never let himself dwell on _that_ thought.

There were two plates of pancakes on the table, one staying warm under a glass cake dome that Ford only barely remembered he owned, the other half its size in front of Stan. His brother was alternating between feeding himself, cutting the pieces down small enough to be manageable for the toddler on his lap, and helping her guide the her fork to her mouth, which was covered in syrup.

Her hands were also covered in syrup. And her arms. And her front, and Stan had had the foresight to remove her oversized sweater first, so at least there was no syrup on _it_. There was no saving the long t-shirt she’d been wearing under it, but it looked like it was beyond saving anyway.

Stan was talking to her while he ate, responding to the excited chatter she was spouting back, and Ford couldn’t really hear them but he could make out his name at one point. He decided to take that as his cue and stepped into the room, and then immediately regretted it. He had no idea what to say.

“How old is she?” he asked, grabbing the first question he could think of. He didn’t really know much about babies, and he hadn’t seen his nephew since he went off to college, so he had no way to tell.

“She was three in August,” Stan said. He gestured at the pancakes on the other side of the table. “I made pancakes,” he explained needlessly. “Hope you don’t mind, I had to feed Mabel and pancakes are easiest. You’re out of flour, by the way.”

“I’m out of most things,” Ford said. He pulled up a chair and settled down in front of the food, staring at it like it might eat him instead. When was the last time he’d had a proper meal? He’d been subsisting almost entirely off of coffee and whatever he could throw together in a few minutes, when he remembered to eat at all.

“I didn’t poison ‘em, ya know,” Stan said grumpily, when Ford had been silent for too long. He was staring resolutely at Mabel rather than his brother. Ford startled out of his thoughtful silence and reached for his fork, forgoing syrup for the moment while he took an automatic bite.

It was like heaven in his mouth. The second bite came more quickly, then the third, until he realized he’d eaten half the plate without stopping. Stan had finally looked up and was staring at him. He self-consciously lowered his fork and cleared his throat.

“Thank you,” he said quietly. “For breakfast, I mean. And for-” He broke off. For what? For not bailing on him when Ford had needed him? A bubble of guilt twisted deep inside him and he forced that down. “-for coming,” he finished. “You didn’t have to.”

“Course I did,” Stan said matter-of-factly, his attention back on Mabel and cleaning the syrup off her face. “You’re family.”

-/-

“So what’s the plan?” Stan asked, once breakfast was done and the dishes were piled in the sink to be cleaned later, when one of them felt like it. Mabel was seated on Stan’s lap, a pen clutched in one chubby hand while she scribbled in a tattered spiralbound notebook Stan had produced at some point.

Ford laughed, high and a little mad. “I have no idea!” he said, leaning his elbows on the table and burying his fingers in his hair. “The only plan I had was getting you to dispose of my journal for me and that’s-” He looked up at Mabel. “...that’s out of the question now.”

“I mean, I probably could,” Stan said, reaching one hand up to ruffle Mabel’s hair. “This little cutie is no stranger to travel. But you’re right, it wouldn’t be good. And beyond the potential danger to Mabel, I’m not leaving you here alone to deal with this.”

Ford frowned. “I’m the least of your worries.”

“That has literally never been true, ever.”

Ford’s head snapped up. “Stan-”

“So what’s the plan?” he asked again. Ford blinked at him, and shrugged.

“I need to dismantle the portal,” he said. “And I need to-” Bill-proof the house. He couldn’t tell Stanley about Bill. “-there’s a… spell… that will help… contain the damage I may have already done.” There, that was true. True enough. “I’m not sure how well it will work, but I guess we can try.”

-/-

There was something Ford wasn’t telling him. Stan was good at sniffing out lies and halftruths- he’d had to be, both to perfect his own talents and to protect himself from those talents in others. Ford was telling him something that was about one quarter truth, and given the state he was currently in and the fact that he’d opened the door with a fucking _crossbow_ , that didn’t sit well with Stan.

Still, he could find out more later. Right now they had a starting point.

His thoughts were interrupted by Mabel, tugging on his sleeve.

“Papa,” she said. “Papa I haveta potty.”

“Oh, right.” He set her down, but she stood in place where he’d set her, bouncing slightly and grabbing for one of his hands.

“You haveta come with me,” she said firmly.

Stan nodded. “Okay,” he said. “You remember where it’s at?”

“Yes!” When he stood up, she hurried off, Stan following behind and Ford trailing curiously after them. Once she was in the bathroom, she gave Stan a stern look and shut the door on him. Inside, they could hear her singing to herself, and Ford gave Stan a baffled look.

“She doesn’t like going to the bathroom alone in strange places,” Stan explained. Which, given their current living situation, was everywhere. He didn’t mention that he’d instilled that in her since all of the bathrooms he had to take her to were public and he didn’t want her getting into any kind of trouble that would land him back in prison when he was forced to deal with it. “But she’s also very stern about being a big girl who doesn’t need anyone to hold her hand while she goes potty.”

“I see,” Ford said, amusement dripping from his tone. Stan shot him a glare, then shrugged and folded his arm.

“So we dismantle the portal and do your… you said spell? As in magic? Seriously?”

“I know how unbelievable it sounds, but it’s true. It won’t be easy, though. One of the ingredients is…” He cringed. “ _Unicorn hair_.”

“That’s not like, _rare_ or anything, is it?”

“It’s practically impossible.” Ford pinched the bridge of his nose. “Unicorns are… frustrating.”

“All right, so we start with the portal. Shouldn’t take long, right?”

“I could take awhile, actually. There are… sensitive components that could, if removed improperly, cause a great deal of damage to the rest of the lab or even the entire house, to say nothing of anyone nearby when it happened.”

“Yikes.” Stan cringed. Trust his brother to build a machine that couldn’t even be broken safely. “All right, so we’ll be extra careful.”

Ford looked hesitant for a moment, before, “I think I would prefer you not help me with the dismantling.”

“What? Why?”

“Well… it’s- like I said, one wrong move and…” He trailed off when he saw Stan’s expression. Stan jabbed a finger at him accusingly.

“And we all know I’m such a goddamn oaf that I’ll immediately come in and start smashing things, is that it?”

“What? No!” Ford held up his hands. “Stan, I didn’t _say_ that, I was just- worried. This isn’t like my science fair project, damaging it could literally kill us.”

“Are you fucking serious?” Stan glared at him, and then was interrupted when the door opened and Mabel came out, drying her hands on her shirt.

“All done!” she chirped. Stan gave her a weak grin, then picked her up.

“That’s great. Come on, honey, let’s go explore, okay?” As they left, he called over his shoulder, “Relax, Sixer, I’ll be extra careful not to _break_ anything.”

-/-

Ford watched Stan carry Mabel off into the house, and his stunned look slowly fell into a glare. He’d only meant to keep Stan safe; the more people handled the machinery, the more chances there were of jostling the dangerous bits. That was all. Why would Stan jump on that the way he did?

Something clenched in his gut, and his brain whispered  _Guilty conscience_ at him. He rolled his eyes. Yes, of course. Stan was aware of how badly he’d messed up and was unwilling to admit it, so he jumped on any perceived attack to defend himself.

Satisfied that that was it, Ford headed into the kitchen to decide if he felt like doing the dishes. (He didn’t.)

-/-

Stan made sure to keep hold of Mabel so she wouldn’t cause any damage or hurt herself, and wandered through the house aimlessly looking around. The place was huge, and the rooms were packed with sciencey stuff shoved in haphazardly- Ford had never had much of an organizational system, and it looked like without Ma hovering over his shoulder to make sure their room stayed at least somewhat clean, what little he’d had had gone out the window.

“I’m glad we’re back home, Papa,” Mabel said, while Stan examined a painting of a four-masted sailing ship stuck on an out-of-the-way wall, held in a frankly gaudy frame. He was pulled away from his confused feelings about the painting by her words, and frowned down at her.

“What do you mean back, honey?” he asked. “Have you ever been here before?”

Mabel looked up at him, then furrowed her brow in a series of tiny wrinkles. She shook her head. “No.”

“Then what do you mean back home?”

More frowning, more shaking her head. “It. Feels _home_ ,” she insisted finally, confusion replaced by her usual sunny smile now that she had settled on what she meant, even if Stan had no idea.

Stan’s confusion wasn’t as easy to displace, but he decided to chalk it up to the fact she was three and didn’t have a true grasp of language yet. Maybe she just meant she was happy they were back in a house, or that she was glad to be in a place that felt more homey again. Not that Ford’s house _did_ feel that homey, but it felt homier than his car.

Mabel tugged on Stan’s shirt and he leaned down to pick her up automatically; she leaned her head on his shoulder and made herself comfortable while he continued to stare at the painting.

“Maybe Ford will let us stick around for awhile,” Stan said. At least until he’d got his feet under him and could afford his own place. He wouldn’t condemn his adorable niece to living in a car again, would he? No, Stan was sure he wouldn’t. Whatever his feelings about Stan, he couldn’t do that to Mabel.

(The thought came unbidden that Ford could easily send Stan packing and keep Mabel with him, and that thought made Stan sick to his stomach. Ford wouldn’t do that.

Would he?

He _wouldn’t_.)

(Probably.)

-/-

They’d been tiptoeing around each other all morning, Ford retreating to one of his projects while Stan and Mabel explored the house, Stan holding onto Mabel and reminding her any time she reached for anything that she looked with her eyes, not her hands. Ford wasn’t sure if he was being pointed or just making sure she was careful, but it was driving him up the wall and making it hard to concentrate.

He waited until Stan had put Mabel down for her nap, and went to confront his brother just as he was leaving the little room. For a moment they stood staring at each other, before Stan sighed.

“I’m sorry,” he said quietly. “I was bracing for an attack so I jumped at the first thing that looked like one.”

Oh. Ford squirmed uncomfortably, and, “Honestly, I’m not entirely sure it wasn’t,” he admitted.

Stan let out a mirthless chuckle, and shook his head.

“Ford, we have to have this out.” He wasn’t looking at Ford, or anywhere at all, really. He pinched the bridge of his nose, then dug the heels of his hands into his eyes. “As much as I’d love to just wallpaper over everything and ignore it, there’s too much bad blood between us and it will start to fester if we leave it to. But I’m so tired. I’m _so tired_ . I just drove almost nonstop for thirty hours straight. In New Mexico I was hiding out from some people who were trying to kill me. I’ve been living in my car for the past couple weeks. Three months ago I found out about my daughter because my ex-wife decided she didn’t want to be a mom anymore and dumped her on me. I’m _tired_. You don’t look any better. So I know we have to have it out but can’t we just... put it on hold? Deal with this portal business and get some rest and then, once we’re out of the woods, we can, I don’t know, finish the fight like we never got to. I’ll even let you throw the first punch. Just let me rest first.”

There was silence, while he waited for Ford’s answer. When none came, he leaned back against the wall and slid down until he was curled double, knees up at his chin and hands limp on the floor either side of him. He looked up at his brother, who, after another moment, sat down beside him, their shoulders very nearly almost but not quite brushing.

“I didn’t know it had gotten that bad,” Ford admitted, and Stan carefully didn’t say ‘You never thought to ask’, because he’d just asked Ford to give him a little time before their fight and wanted to be careful. “You’ve only had Mabel for three months?”

“Yeah, just after she turned three.” He leaned his head back against the wall. “Was even trying to live clean for her sake but- well, it wasn’t like I could just snap my fingers and fix everything.” He sighed and dug at his eyes again. “She deserves better. Better than having no one in the world but a worthless conman in way over his head.”

“Well...” There was an awkward moment where Stan was sure Ford would deny thinking him worthless, and then he gave Stan a playful, albeit forced, smile. “What am I, chopped liver? She is my niece. You’re not all she has.”

“Thanks,” Stan murmured, though he didn’t look comforted.

“...I think she could do worse than having you for a dad,” Ford finally said. “Your only real problem that I’ve seen is that you don’t have any income or a place to live. And, well.” He hesitated, twisting his hands a little, and, “I can take care of the latter. You two can stay here for- well, for as long as it takes to dismantle the portal, at least. After that we’ll... we’ll see. We’ll talk. Probably fight. But I’m not throwing her _or_ you out. So. So that’s that.”

-/-

Ford hadn’t gotten the chance to meet Mabel properly the night before, nor the next morning since he and Stan were discussing their plans for the portal and then Stan had his… tantrum. Now Stan had sat her on the couch and explained, very quietly and seriously, that the man hovering awkwardly behind him was his twin brother and her uncle, that he was glad he finally got to introduce them.

“Your turn,” Stan said, moving aside but not going out of arm’s reach of her tiny little baby arms. Her tiny, chubby baby arms, that she had because she was a baby. His brother’s baby. His niece. He had a _niece_.

“It’s, it’s nice to meet you, Mabel,” he said, dropping to his knees so they’d be level, mimicking the way Stan had knelt to speak to her. He wasn’t sure what to do, so he held out one hand for her to shake, and was surprised when she set her tiny little baby hand in his, beaming at him.

“You have friendly hands,” she said.

 _Oh_.

The whole world went pink and fuzzy. Ford felt his face splitting into his first real smile in ages, his expression softening into gentleness he hadn’t felt in- in a decade, at least. He let go of her hand and held both of his up, palms out. She couldn’t count yet, could she? She wouldn’t think he was weird yet, would she?

Obviously not, because as he held up his -friendly!- hands, she held up her own and touched her palms to his.

She was so _small_. So tiny and delicate. Still, he doubted she would break easily. Pineses were resilient, they were survivors. They fought back.

He really, really hoped she’d never have to.

He closed his hands around hers, folding his fingers around her little tiny baby fingers. “Can- can I hug you?”

And got his answer in the form of her hurling herself at him hard enough to knock him to the floor with a laugh.

-/-

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [I made an art inspired by this chapter.](http://grifalinas.tumblr.com/post/171424367444/the-world-went-pink-and-fuzzy) And there are more draws to come as I get to them, assuming I actually finish them in time.


	2. The One Where They Fight It Out

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stan has done some pretty shitty things to make money in the past. Compared to that, making up stories about the supernatural for forty-five minutes practically qualifies him for sainthood.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't expect all of the chapters to come this quickly, the first maybe three were written almost in their entirety already when I started fleshing them out from the snippets posted to Tumblr. After that you'll have to start waiting for me to actually write them before posting.

-/-

Despite Ford’s complete lack of a sleep cycle, Stan always seemed to be awake before him. He wandered into the kitchen, feeling significantly better after his second night of actually getting sleep (collectively, nearly four hours this time), to find Stan, as usual, had made breakfast.

Toast, spam, and canned pear slices this morning. Ford squinted down at the plate left out for him, and then over at Stan, who was keeping one watchful eye on Mabel’s own breakfast while he wrote in his abused notebook. Her plate was mostly empty, and she’d reached the point of playing with her food that Ford guessed meant she was done eating. He turned his attention to the notebook instead.

“What are you writing?” he asked, sitting down to his breakfast without touching it.

“Grocery list,” Stan grunted.

“Grocery list?”

“You’re out of everything. Literally all that’s left in your cabinet is a can of soup. So I’m going into town after breakfast to get groceries.”

Oh, right. Food. He needed that, didn’t he. Ford stared down at his plate, something uncomfortable twisting inside of him.

Here was the thing: he knew Stan didn’t have grocery money. While Stan had said nothing outright about his living situation after that first morning, when he’d practically broken down over how tired he was, Ford had gleaned from other comments he'd made that he was broke. Or at least, didn’t have anything like enough to actually buy groceries.

Here was the other thing: Ford didn’t have grocery money either. He said as much.

“What?” Stan gave him a baffled look, his pen skittering across the page. “But what about your fancy grant? Surely they let you pay for stuff like food, not just research.”

“They do, or rather they did when I still had a grant to use,” he said. “I forgot to renew it last time.” At least, he thought he might have forgotten. He was sharing his mind with Bill at the time, so it was entirely possible Bill had interfered. He couldn’t think why, since the grant money had gone into building the portal, but he had given up trying to fathom Bill’s more sadistic tendencies.

“You forgot-” Stan broke off, and gave him a slackjawed look of pure vitriol, then snapped his mouth shut and turned back to the list he’d been writing. “Okay. Fine. I’ll get some money while I’m in town.”

“How?”

“I’ll think of something. Don’t worry about it.”

“Stanley-”

“I said don’t worry about it!”

-/-

The rest of breakfast was tense. Stan finished his grocery list, got Mabel cleaned up, stuck their dirty dishes in the sink for one of them to clean later, and then bundled both him and Mabel up for the trek into town.

(He still hadn’t told Ford, and Ford still hadn’t asked, why he’d had to walk to the cabin that night. Ford had yet to notice that a man who claimed to have been living out of his car seemed to mysteriously lack a car to live out of. Or maybe he had noticed, and didn’t care enough to ask. It didn’t matter. Stan would just have to make sure he got gas money while he was getting grocery money. He couldn’t carry groceries and a three year old all the way out into the woods by himself.)

The town was pretty small, only a few streets and a handful of businesses. There didn’t seem to be a lot of honest ways to make money outside of the logging industry, and while he wasn’t above dishonest ways of making money, he wanted to avoid drawing unnecessary attention to himself just yet. Even if he couldn’t stay with Ford indefinitely, he still liked the idea of Gravity Falls as a more permanent home. He couldn’t keep getting banned from cities and counties and entire states, not with a daughter to think of. He had to find somewhere to settle down and raise her properly.

(Besides, he hadn’t been exaggerating when he told Ford he was tired. The last ten years of his life were weighing heavily on him, and he just wanted to stop. A sleepy lumber town like Gravity Falls might be just the place for that. Far away from anything, and the last place someone like Rico might look for him.)

He decided to stop off at the grocery store first. Maybe they had some kind of credit system, so he could go ahead and get groceries and not have to worry about paying yet. And if nothing else, he could talk to the locals a bit and feel out how he might go about making money. And while he didn’t want to start drawing attention to himself, there was always the option of shoplifting.

“Sorry,” the cashier said, when he asked about store credit. “The boss doesn’t like extending credit to strangers.”

“That’s no stranger!” said a cheery voice behind him. He half-turned at a hand on his arm to see a woman about his own age, wearing a waitress uniform and far too much mascara. He resisted the urge to slick his hair back and wink; that hadn’t worked reliably since high school and hadn’t worked at all since he’d grown his hair out. Still, she was cute, and he had the best wingman in the world perched on his shoulders anyway.

“Hello,” he said, offering his best smile, but the woman had already turned her attention to the cashier.

“This is that mysterious science guy that lives up in the woods,” she said. “You know him!”

Stan stared. Really? Okay, yes, he and Ford were mostly identical twins. And before puberty had hit, it had been pretty easy to mistake one of them for the other, they’d often taken full advantage of it. And he could accept that most people wouldn’t pick up the tiny differences in their faces that he could; after all, it wasn’t their face, and people noticed the furniture more easily than the details anyway. He knew; he’d made a career out of not being recognized.

But once puberty had hit, they had stopped being identical. They had completely different builds; Ford was small and while he’d put on more muscle since Stan had last seen him, he was still pretty lean, where Stan had always been broader, bulkier. And even accounting for how much his heavy winter coat hid his figure, he had a  _ mullet _ . Ford didn’t.

So how in the world could these people look at him and think he was Ford, unless they hadn’t ever actually met Ford in person anyway.

Oh, Ford. And to think he had once blamed his lack of friends on Stan.

“Actually, the nerd in the woods is Stanford, my twin brother,” he said. “I’m Stanley. I only just got here a few days ago.”

“Well welcome to Gravity Falls, Stanley! I’m Susan. And who is this little cutie right here?” she added, nodding up at Mabel.

“I’m Mabel!” Mabel said, waving cheerily. Stan chuckled. God his kid was adorable.

“It’s nice to meet you, Mabel.” Susan reached up to take Mabel’s tiny hand, giving it a friendly little shake, then turned her attention back to Stan. “So you’re living up at that spooky shack with your brother now?”

“Uh, for now,” he said, neglecting to mention that ‘for now’ only covered the week, maybe week and a half that it would take to dismantle the portal.

“Gosh, that place is so mysterious,” the cashier said, joining their conversation. “I’d pay anything to get a look at the inside.”

Something in Stan’s head went ‘ping!’ He bit back a response, and said, “Really? What’s so special or mysterious about it?”

More people were coming to join them. “Spooky stuff goes on up at that place,” said one of them. “I hear stuff about mysterious lights, and there’s all those satellites and junk.”

“We live nearby,” added a woman with a young boy beside her. “We were walking home one night when a lot of lights went up and it felt like the gravity flipped off!”

Stan suddenly found himself surrounded by about a dozen townspeople, all chattering about the spooky things they’d noticed about the little shack (as they called it, despite its size), or the mysterious behavior of their hermit scientist, and more than one made a comment about how much money they’d pay to see the inside and Stan was at war with himself.

On the one hand, there was Mabel to consider. Stan had spent the last ten years of his life surviving on little money and less food. While he’d never starved, that was because there wasn’t much he wasn’t willing to do, when it really came down to it. And he’d sworn to himself that he would never let Mabel be in that position. Whatever else he failed at, his daughter would never never need to know how long she could last on a few mouthfuls of food before she’d need to eat again. She was never going to feel the pain of hunger gnawing at her insides. She was never going to know the desperation that pushed Stan into doing some of the most shameful things he had ever done just to afford a couple of meals. Not if Stan had any say in it.

On the other hand, there was Ford. It was his house, and his research, and his science, and Stan knew, deep down, that he would never agree to something like this. He valued his privacy, and either way it wasn’t Stan’s call. Doing something like this would probably sever the fragile bond the two had managed to create in the past two days, one born out of necessity and desperation but still the kind of bond that could be built into something more if given time.

But there were no other options, because Stan had spent all of his money just getting to Gravity Falls, and Ford hadn’t bothered to renew his grant.

In a way, Ford owed him. And he didn’t want his brother knowing what it was like to go hungry, either.

“So uh...” Stan finally spoke, getting their attention and calming the chatter. “If you guys are serious about wanting to see the inside of the house, it’s ten- no, fifteen!- dollars a head.”

Ford was going to be so angry at him. But a dozen locals were waving money at him, and they needed groceries.

-/-

It could be worse, Stan thought, eyeing the group. It would be a bit of a hike out into the woods, but all of them looked like the sort of people who spent a lot of time hiking in the woods anyway, and it would give him time to think of something to tell Stanford if he found out about this. Stan wasn’t an idiot; he’d left Ford down in the basement dismantling the portal but his luck wasn’t the best, Ford would probably come up at some point during the tour.

Stan hoped he didn’t, but he wasn’t stupid enough to think he wouldn’t.

As they approached the house they were approached by an enormous wall of a man with red hair and enough flannel to make Stan’s eyes water. He had an axe thrown cheerily over his shoulder, but no one else seemed worried so Stan decided he wouldn’t be either. Instead he waved and beckoned the man over.

“Hello, stranger,” he said. “I wonder if I could offer you an amazing opportunity.”

The man squinted down at him. “You’re not Stanford.”

“You’re observant.” It sounded sarcastic, and was a bit, but the man had still cleared the bar the rest of the town had tripped over, so Stan gave him a mental gold star and stuck out his hand. “I’m Stanley, Stanford’s twin brother.”

“And I’m Mabel!” Mabel added cheerily, holding out her hand as well.

“Dan Corduroy.” He shook Stan’s hand once, then engulfed Mabel’s tiny hand in his enormous one. “Are you living with Stanford now? That makes us neighbors.”

Stan shrugged, and thumbed over his shoulder at the tour group. “So, about that opportunity- wanna join us for a tour of the house? It’s fifteen bucks a head.”

Dan squinted at him again, then reached into his pocket and took out some bills; he counted a few and handed them over. “All right. Let’s see what you got.”

These people were practically lining up to give him cash. Stan shoved the money into the pocket where he’d been keeping the rest of it, and beckoned them all forward. As they approached the house, he became aware of a conversation going on literally above his head, between Mabel and Dan; Dan was explaining that he’d built the house all on his own a few years ago, and Mabel sounded very impressed by this information.

-/-

The tour started off shaky. Stan had no idea how he was going to make Stanford’s weird nerdy science gizmos sound interesting when he had no idea what any of them did, and he was keeping one eye on the bookcase that hid the basement waiting for Stanford to find them, and the townsfolk were getting agitated. He wasn’t holding their interest and any minute now they were going to start asking for their money back and he-

-no, no, no, he could do this. It was just another kind of con, just grab their attention-

“Hey, don’t touch that,” he said hurriedly, as Susan was reaching for a- a thing. She gave him a sharp look for the tone in his voice, so he hastily added, “You gotta be careful what you touch in a mad scientist’s house. After all, if you’re not, then-” Think, Stanley, think! He grabbed the skeleton Stanford had against the wall, and another quick look around revealed a Hawaiian shirt and a pair of novelty sunglasses- he’d spotted them last night, and had no idea what Stanford was doing with them- and threw them together hastily. “-you might not make it out alive!”

There was a stunned silence, and then a ripple of laughter. His smile became a little more genuine and he pulled the skeleton down as if it were alive, and stage-whispered to it, “Listen buddy, between you and me, you’ve definitely seen better days.”

“That’s what  _ you _ think!” he answered back, tacking on one of the silly voices he used to entertain Mabel. “You should have seen me before.  _ This _ is an improvement!”

More laughter. Stan felt something inside him unclench, and beckoned the group on, leaving the skeleton behind while he brought them over to the dinosaur skull Stanford was keeping in the tank.

“This would make a great coffee table,” he said, and got more laughter. It hadn’t even been a joke, he just suddenly really wanted to turn the dinosaur skull into a coffee table.

Meh, whatever worked.

-/-

Now that he’d got the crowd going, the tour was coming off far more successfully. The people, it turned out, did not care one bit about what the stuff in the house actually WAS. They just wanted the experience of poking around a mad scientist’s house and seeing for themselves that it looked like they’d imagined.

And they loved Stan. Every lousy joke he came up with had them chuckling, every story he made up about the devices he showed them, every aside remark teasing one and then the other of the audience, they ate it up. Stan was  _ living _ . Part of his brain, the part that arranged cons, was already reaching into the future and planning ways to keep this con going indefinitely, another part, the part that wanted to stay in Gravity Falls, was telling him that he was in the perfect place for something like this- and no part of him was left to watch the bookcase until it had opened up and spilled a fuming Stanford out into the room until he had stormed over to glare at Stan.

“Stanley! What in the world is going on? Who are these people? What are they doing in my house?”

“Looks like the jig is up, people!” Stan said, kicking his voice into a showman’s yell. “Cheese it, or you’ll end up like Skully!”

It worked. Delighted shouts of gleeful fear erupted from the tour group, who fled to the door without once thinking of asking for their money back- a couple had even shoved some more bills into Stan’s hands as they went by, bills that were tucked away in a different pocket than the fees. Tips, he hadn’t even thought of that.

Only Dan remained behind- not surprisingly, Stan got the feeling he’d only come into the group to see Stanford anyway- but Stan didn’t want him talking to Ford until he’d calmed him down. He handed Mabel to the man before he could speak.

“Hey, I need to talk to my bro,” he said. “Can you take Mabel? It’s probably gonna get a bit-” Punchy. “-shouty.”

Dan nodded, and Stan tucked Mabel into his arms. “Hey Pumpkin, I need you to go with Dan for a little while, okay? I’ll come get you soon.”

“Okay, Papa.” Mabel twisted to look up at Dan. “Can we build a snowman?”

Dan chuckled, and as they left Stan heard him assure her that they could. He took a deep breath. Well, time to face the music. He reached into his pocket and felt the reassuring wad of bills there, and then turned to his furious brother.

-/-

Furious honestly didn’t begin to cover how Ford felt toward Stan right then. He’d heard voices upstairs and thought it was just Stan- had wanted to see if he’d succeeded in getting grocery money- only to find half the town crowded into his house, and Stan telling a pack of lies about his research. At least Stan had managed to get rid of the people quickly, but that hadn’t lessened Ford’s anger any.

“I can’t believe you!” Ford shouted, as soon as Mabel was away. He was glad Stan had had the sense to do that; he wouldn’t have thought of it, but as things stood, he didn’t want to fight in front of his niece. “What the hell, Stanley?”

“I was just trying to get grocery money,” Stan said wearily.

“So you invited a bunch of strangers into my house, putting all of them in danger by the way- you treated my house like some kind of tourist trap- just to make some cash?”

“A hundred and sixty dollars,” Stan said flatly, flashing the wad of cash in explanation. Ford clamped his mouth shut with an audible click. “Not just ‘some cash’, enough to get groceries for a month.”

“There are other ways to make money,” Ford said.

Stan snorted. “Don’t I know it,” he muttered. He pinched the bridge of his nose. “Look, I’ve done some real shady shit over the past ten years just to make enough to survive, stuff I’m not proud of, stuff I hope I never have to do again. But I just spent forty five minutes telling made up stories and bad jokes to a dozen people and they gave me a hundred and sixty dollars, and then thanked me for the pleasure.  _ A hundred and sixty dollars _ , Ford.”

It was going to keep coming back to that, wasn’t it? It was okay because he’d gotten what he wanted, so who cared that he’d betrayed his brother and ruined everything? “Is money all you care about? You’re starting to sound like Dad.”

-/-

Stan punched him.

He wasn’t even aware of making the change from tired calm, wanting to just walk away rather than argue, to willing to lash out. One moment he was shoving his money into his pocket and the next his blood was boiling and his fist was throbbing and Ford was on the floor, lip split and already swelling, looking stunned.

“How dare you,” Stan hissed, grabbing Ford’s shirt and yanking him up until they were face to face, a breath apart. “Don’t you. Ever. Compare me to that bastard.”

“You are, though,” said Ford, apparently in possession of a deathwish. “He’s always hounding me, complaining that I’ve wasted my life by becoming a researcher rather than finding a way to make millions. You sound like him.”

“There’s a difference between treating one kid like a meal ticket and the other like a burden, and wanting to get money so you can afford to  _ feed _ your kid.”

“You can’t keep hiding behind your daughter every time you make a mistake, Stanley.”

Stan punched him again.

-/-

“You ruined my dream!”

A fist connected with an eye, a pair of glasses skittering across the floor.

“You ruined mine first!”

-/-

“Did I even mean anything to you?”

An elbow to a gut, his twin doubling over, trying to catch his breath.

“You meant everything to me!”

-/-

“All you care about is treasure hunting!”

His back connected with the floor hard, and his foot was already rising to meet his brother’s chest, to kick him away. Something crashed in the background, but they ignored it.

“It was never about the treasure hunting!”

-/-

“You were going to leave me behind!”

No leverage to punch, so a head connected with the other with an unpleasant crack. An arm twisted behind his back, forcing him to the floor.

“You were suffocating me!”

-/-

“You sabotaged my future!”

“I didn’t!”

“Well how else do you explain it? You just  _ happened _ to be in the cafeteria in the middle of the night? What would you be doing there, if not to ruin everything for me?”

The fire, burning in Stan up to now, banked, switched, ran cold, ice in his veins while he went unnaturally still. His teeth bared in a snarl, and he stalked toward Ford, who had frozen as well, taken aback by the change in his twin.

“Say that again,” Stan said, cold fury lacing every tone. “Look me in the eye and say that again. Look me in the eye and tell me you really believe that I would ever,  _ could _ ever deliberately hurt you like that. Look me in the eye and tell me you think I would even  _ want _ to, and I’ll...” And the fury seemed to drain out of him, replaced by the weight of ten years isolation and betrayal and guilt. “...and I’ll walk out of your life and you’ll never have to see me again.”

_ Until you call for me again and I come running _ , he added silently, and hated himself for it.

Ford looked uncomfortable. He was shifting awkwardly, gaze darting from the floor to the wall to the window and never, ever at Stan. Finally, he caught Stan’s eye and said, in a very small voice, “I know you didn’t break my project on purpose.”

Stan’s shoulders sagged. “Well. I guess that’s something.” Something small and meaningless and insignificant in the face of everything that had been said but it was still something.

Maybe if they could stop yelling long enough they could make it something more.

-/-

The fight had completely gone out of Stan. They’d been standing there for several minutes now, Ford watching Stan thoughtfully while Stan stared at the floor. Ford’s words were echoing in his head, booming loud enough to drown everything else out.  _ Suffocating _ , he’d said. He’d thought Stan was  _ suffocating _ him.

“I’m sorry,” he said quietly. “I’m sorry for being suffocating.”

“Stanley…” Ford fidgeted. “I shouldn’t have said that.”

“You should have said it a lot sooner.” He looked up at his brother, then quickly looked away rather than see Ford’s expression. “I never minded being the dumber, sweatier version of you, you know. I never minded being your dumb muscle. I just wanted you to want me around. And I didn’t want to ruin your dream or your future, either, I just… wanted to be a part of them. And you were going to leave me and I didn’t know what to do and I was so  _ angry _ .” 

He could still remember that feeling, the way his insides and curled in on themselves at Ford’s words.  _ You better come visit me _ . He hadn’t wanted to visit, he’d wanted to be there. He wanted Ford to  _ want _ him there. But when Ford had said he wanted to get away- had he always included Stan in what he wanted to get away  _ from _ ? Was Stan always lumped in with the rest of Glass Shard Beach, something for him to escape?

For ten years Stan had assumed that Ford’s machine was the catalyst for their estrangement, but had it just been the last in a long line of problems? Was it simply the breaking point? Was that why Ford had turned his back on him? Had he been glad of the excuse to boot Stan out of his life early?

Stan felt his back hit the wall and he slid down until he was folded double. He rested his forehead on his knees, and focused on willing away the urge to cry. Fuck, after all that time- after a decade of wishing he could have changed one night- would it have done any good? Or would something else have come along and taken the place of that? Was their bond a ticking time bomb, waiting for something to shatter it?

“I thought you would be fine,” Ford said suddenly. Stan looked up, his expression demanding an explanation. Ford fidgeted, then sat down beside him. “When you le- when Pa threw you out. I thought- I  _ told myself _ that you would be fine. That you would course correct with no problem because you were always the adaptable one who was good at anything you tried.”

Stan stared.  _ He _ was the adaptable one? _ He _ was the one who was good at anything? Had Ford been living a completely different childhood than Stan?

But Ford wasn’t done talking.

“I told myself that I was angry at you for ruining my life and that any problems you faced you’d brought on yourself and I told myself you would be fine because you had personality and charisma and charm and you could do anything, and I convinced myself that in a year you would be back to rub your fortune in our face.”

He was twitching at his fingers now, tugging on each before cracking the knuckle and moving on to the next. Pull, pull, fold, pop, repeat. Stan wanted to take his hands and separate them. It always took Ford awhile to crack all of his knuckles.

“When you didn’t come back I told myself you’d washed your hands of us and I got angry all over again, because you’d ruined my future and then left me behind to course correct on my own, and then I told myself I was better off without you anyway and I didn’t need you and I could course correct just as well as you could and it didn’t matter and  _ you _ didn’t matter and I think I said it so much I started to believe it and I’m sorry, Stanley.”

“...For what?”

“For everything?” Ford looked baffled. “I let you get kicked out of the house for my own stupid project and I- maybe I couldn’t have done much but I could have  _ said _ something- I didn’t even  _ try _ to find you or reach out or contact you until I needed you- I said you’d be okay so that I didn’t have to think about it and I could dwell on my own stupid problems.”

Stan glanced down at Ford’s hands. He’d run out of knuckles and now he was trying to recrack one of them, to no avail. Stan shifted around and reached over to lay his hands over each of his brother’s, pulling them apart. They twitched in his, trying to find some way of dispelling that nervous energy, so Stan rubbed his thumb over the back of one hand and was pleased when Ford mirrored the motion on the other.

“Okay, first of all, it’s not your fault I got kicked out, it’s Pa’s. That decision is squarely on him. Second, you had every right to be mad at me, and if Pa hadn’t interrupted, then I’d have realized that a lot sooner and we could have fought it out and made up a lot sooner, so the blame for that lies squarely on Pa, too. Thirdly...” 

He trailed off.  _ You were the one who was good at anything you tried _ . Seriously, where had Ford gotten that idea?  _ He _ was the dumber, sweatier version of Ford,  _ he _ was the one who’d needed to cheat off of Ford all through high school because he wasn’t smart enough to understand the material himself,  _ he _ was the one who’d been riding around on his brother’s coattails. Hadn’t Ford thought that too? Hadn’t he said Stan was suffocating him? Surely Ford wouldn’t have felt that if he hadn’t felt that Stan was the lesser twin. Would he?

“Thirdly?”

Oh right, he’d been saying something. His expression softened. Suddenly their fight ten years ago didn’t seem to matter in the slightest. Stan let go of Ford’s hands and pulled him into a ribcracking hug instead.

“Thirdly, I’m sorry I broke your machine and didn’t tell you about it. And that I was too focused on my own stupid treasure hunting dream to realize it wasn’t your dream too anymore. And that I got mad instead of finding a way to make things work so that I didn’t lose you. And that I didn’t just talk to you about how I was feeling.”

“I think that’s one apology I owe you as well,” Ford said, and wrapped his arms around Stan in return. His hands splayed over Stan’s back, digging deep, like if he hugged hard enough he could hug down to his soul as well.

“I really missed you,” Ford added, so Stan shifted his face to bury it in Ford’s shoulder so he could pretend he wasn’t crying.

“Missed you too, Poindexter.”

-/-

“Where are you going?” Ford asked, when Stan let go of him what probably should have been an embarrassing amount of time later.

“I just handed my daughter to an almost total stranger and told him to take her out for a walk in some spooky woods in the middle of winter,” he said. “So I should probably go get her and bring her back.”

“You got Dan to watch her, right?” At Stan’s nod, he went on. “I wouldn’t worry, then. He’s our nearest neighbor, he even built this house. His house is a short walk away. He’s a good guy.”

“That’s good to hear. I’m still going to go get her.”

Ford said nothing more, so Stan stepped out onto the porch. He wasn’t going to mention that after their fight, he just needed a few minutes to himself to process everything that had been said.

Suddenly he leaned back on the door as a realization hit him. Our neighbor, Ford had said. That meant- what? Stan knew better at this point to make assumptions about Ford’s meaning in offhand comments. But still, that our. Our was both of them. Did that mean he felt that Stan belonged here? In his home, in his life? Or was it just an offhand comment based on the fact Stan was living there at the moment?

He didn’t want to ask. The wounds of their argument were still fresh and raw and needed to heal while they felt out the new ground between them. He’d wait a little while and ask a bit later, reopen the discussion of Stan’s living arrangements.

In the meantime, he had to go find his daughter.

Dan had, fortunately, had the foresight not to take Mabel too far. Stan found them after only a few moments, just beyond the treeline building a snowman.

He had a moment of panic when he didn’t immediately see her, and then had to laugh once he did. Stan had not remembered her coat when he’d handed her to Dan and asked him to take her, and so Dan had kept her warm by tucking her down the front of his own enormous coat. He’d also plonked his hat onto her head, and it drooped down over her ears so that between the hat and Dan’s coat, only her eyes and the tip of her little nose was visible. At least she seemed to be enjoying herself.

“Hey Pumpkin,” he said, opening his own jacket and wrapping it around her when Dan plucked her free and set her in Stan’s arms. “Did you have fun?”

“We made a snowman!” Mabel proclaimed happily, pointing over at the snowman. Stan grinned.

“That’s a good snowman,” he agreed, and turned his attention to Dan. “Hey, thanks.”

“No problem. You two gonna be okay?”

Stan’s face was throbbing; he was aware he must look pretty battered, and Ford hadn’t looked much better. He reached up one hand to rub as his aching jaw.

“I think so,” he said. “Hey, you’re friends with Ford, right?”

“I’m not sure I’d say that,” Dan said, after considering it a moment. “I helped him out when he was getting moved in, but after that I only ever saw him in passing, when we cross paths in the woods. Lately, not even that.”

“You were coming to see him, though, right?”

“I was coming to tell ‘im that hillbilly friend of his has been causing trouble again.”

“That what?”

“McGucket,” Dan said. “You don’t know him?”

“I’ve been here two days, man, I’m playing catchup here. His friend?”

“I’m not sure they’re friends anymore, but McGucket used to be his assistant or something. Lately he’s been running into trouble in town, nearly got hit by a car earlier and I figured Stanford should know.”

“What’s he supposed to do about it?”

Dan shrugged at that, so Stan sighed.

“Never mind, I’ll pass it along.” Mabel was starting to shiver even inside his coat. Stan tightened his hold on her. “I should get going before this one catches a cold,” he said. “I’ll see you around.”

-/-

Ford had disappeared when Stan got back, but a note on the fridge informed him that his brother had gone back down to work on the portal. A part of Stan was relieved; he’d worried that Ford wanted to talk more, and he was feeling too drained. Maybe Ford was too, maybe that was why he’d gone back downstairs. Maybe he’d decided they should take a time out and regroup later.

Or maybe the short time they’d spent together had left him feeling suffocated and he had needed to go somewhere he’d needed to breathe.

Stan sighed at the note in his hand, and grabbed Mabel’s coat from the table it had been discarded on earlier.

“Let’s go get those groceries, huh, sweetie? I need to gas up the car, too.”

-/-

It was the first time in awhile that Stan had paid for something he could have shoplifted, but even he couldn’t shoplift a week’s worth of groceries for three people without being noticed. Not that he didn’t steal  _ anything _ , of course. The money he’d made from the tour would stretch across a month if he budgeted carefully, but he could make it stretch a little farther if he slipped some of the groceries out in his pockets.

Besides, it was stupidly easy to get away with. He almost felt  _ bad _ .

Ford didn’t turn up again until Stan was putting dinner on the table- hot dogs, which were easy, but Stan had never said his culinary expertise was enormous. Just bigger than Ford’s. And he only occasionally shed body hair into them.

Dinner was tense and quiet. There was more that hadn’t been said, and both of them could feel the weight of it hanging over them. They’d have to finish talking at some point, but- and the thought left a warm, hopeful feeling glowing in his chest- but they  _ would _ talk about them. They’d talk about them and they’d work them out.

After dinner Stan carried Mabel off to get ready for bed, leaving Ford to clean up behind them or at least add their dishes to the pile in the sink. By the time he had her in her nightshirt- an old t-shirt of his, which hung off of her tiny frame but that she refused to part with- and ready to tuck in, her eyes were drooping, but once he’d pulled the covers around her she reached out and found his hand with her own and gave him a sleepy look.

“Papa? Are you fighting Uncle Ford?”

Perceptive little thing. Stan folded her hand between his, then sat down and lifted her into his lap. She snuggled into him contentedly, waiting for him to respond.

“We’re… not  _ not _ fighting,” he said. “It’s… hard to explain, but Ford and I have… well, a long time ago something happened and we were angry at each other for a long time. Now we’re together again we have to work that out, but sometimes that means we’re going to fight about how angry we both are.”

She tilted her head back to look at him, a little confused. “Why don’t you just hug it out? Like what me and Dipper do.”

“I wish it was that easy,” he said, stroking her hair.

She didn’t say anything to that, and after a moment her expression fell into a one of despair, and she curled down to bury her face in his soft belly. “I miss Dipper,” she said, and he could feel hot tears soaking his shirt through.

He tightened his hold on her. Truth be told he had no idea who Dipper even  _ was _ . Ever since he’d got Mabel, she’d talked about him, at first begging to know where he was, but when he’d asked, she’d just said that “Dipper is Dipper” as if that explained it.

He’d thought at first that she might mean Marilyn’s boyfriend or husband or something, but selfishly he’d hoped not. He didn’t want his daughter to have anyone else she thought of as a father. The more she’d said, though, he’d begun to suspect that Dipper was a child too, so now he was assuming a playmate or something.

“I know, honey,” he said. “I wish I could help you there, but I can’t.”

Her response was a shuddery sob, and there was nothing he could do to that but hold her until she’d cried herself out.

-/-

Mabel did eventually stop crying, so Stan got up and grabbed her wet cloth to clean her face before tucking her back in. Once he’d got her settled, he gave her her goodnight kisses and then made his way to the back door, grabbing his coat and boots on his way out, but not going any farther than the porch. He sat down against the wall and stared out at the shadows of the woods.  After a little while of this, he heard the door open, and didn’t look up as Ford came to sit beside him.

“I’ve thought about it, and I’ve decided you can stay here,” Ford said, without preamble. “As long as you need- as long as you want, even. And not just because of Mabel, either. Because I- I want you here. In my life. I missed ten years. I don’t want to miss any more. And.” He hung his head, shame written all over his tone. “I’m sorry. For a lot of things, but for now I’ll start with… I’m sorry I didn’t contact you until I needed you. Whatever else there was between us, it would have been a lot easier to work out if I’d tried.”

Stan said nothing to that, just leaned his head back against the wall and let a tired, genuine smile touch his lips. Beside him, Ford shifted just enough that their shoulders were now touching.

-/-

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What do you mean "wrote the fight in a really pretentious way so I wouldn't have to actually choreograph a fight scene"?


	3. The One With Evil Geometry and Morally Questionable Unicorns

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There's a world of difference between telling the truth and being honest, and Stan knows that difference just as well as he knows the difference between his face and his brother's.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We've reached the point that I started jumping around, so chapters will come more slowly after this as I have more gaps to fill in now.
> 
> Content note: I didn't realize when I started this that we had a timestamp (or at least a reasonable time range) for when the portal incident occurred. Judging by the snowstorm when Stan arrived, I had assumed it was midwinter, not late winter, and since this fic occurs a few weeks later, by this time per my headcanons it's early March and almost spring. This doesn't affect much that's already been written, but I'm going to handwave some stuff that has by saying that the unusually heavy snow for that time of year in Oregon of 1982 (I checked; it should have been warming up by then) is due to the portal interfering with local weather patterns. Fortunately I didn't get too far into the fic before I had to retcon the weather.

-/-

It was easier to get their feelings out while sitting side by side staring out at the dark forest than it ever would face to face. Stan’s arm and shoulder were warm against his own, a reassuring press that told him Stan would listen to his words, whatever pain they might cause, and he hoped he was conveying the same thing.

“Did you ever just get really  _ frustrated _ always being part of a set?” Judging by the incredulous look Stan shifted enough to give him, that was a no. Ford pressed on. “It wasn’t that I didn’t love being a twin, I did, I just- it was  _ always _ the Pines twins, or StanandFord. I was tired of never getting a chance to just  _ be Ford _ . And you were so  _ big _ and  _ loud _ and full of  _ personality _ that when I wasn’t StanandFord I was… Stan’s nerdy twin brother. I couldn’t breathe, I didn’t even know who I really  _ was _ . And when I tried to get space it- it seemed like the more space I  _ took _ the less you were willing to give me. You were always  _ there _ .”

“Suffocating you.” Stan muttered, and sighed. “I didn’t realize. I thought we were drifting apart, I thought I was going to lose you- I thought if I didn’t do something we’d fall apart without us realizing. I didn’t know you were doing it on purpose.”

“I should have said something.” That was the crux, really. One of them should have said something, and spared them ten years of heartache and isolation. Ford buried his fingers in his hair and ruffled it irritably. “You  _ really _ never felt like that? Like you were just… like you only existed to be an extension of someone else?”

Another of those incredulous looks, and then Stan burst out laughing. “I swear, Sixer, we are from two different realities and we’ve managed to crash into one another. Seriously? You ask if  _ I _ ever felt like I only existed as an extension of you? I felt like it every damn day of my life!”

“Then you  _ must _ understand why I felt suffocated. Didn’t you ever want to just- get away, be on your own?”

Stan shrugged. “I mean, sure. But, like, for a few hours. Maybe overnight, sometimes, when I was dating Carla. But not- I mean- we were a  _ team _ . You’re my  _ brother _ , and- why would I want to hold it against you just cause everyone else thought you were the best thing since sliced bread? It’s not like I disagreed with them. You were my best friend.”

Ford started and looked over, then away, something clenching in his chest.  _ You were my best friend _ . Well, it’s not like he had any right to the present tense, not after everything, but… that _were_ still stung. More than he would have expected it to, two days ago.

He was contemplating how to respond to that when the stillness of the night was broken by a sound he hadn’t even realized he’d come to fear: a child’s scream, cutting through him like trying to stand up to a hurricane. He was on his feet before he’d even registered the scream, but Stan was ahead of him, moving faster than he’d ever seen his brother move.

Mabel met them in the middle, half-tripping on the oversized t-shirt she slept in before she spotted Stan and hurled herself at him, burying tear-soaked eyes in his front while she sobbed.

“Hey, hey, it’s okay,” Stan said, stroking her hair. “I’m right here, Pumpkin. Deep breaths. Come on, it’s gonna be okay.”

He shot Ford a meaningful look, and Ford nodded, taking the time while Stan calmed Mabel to check the room for any hints of what might have frightened her. An icy feeling of dread was clenching around Ford’s insides, a suspicion that rested somewhere between paranoia and premonition. Whatever had scared Mabel had not been a mere dream, but he wouldn’t find any evidence of it in the room, either, he knew.

The room was empty, exactly as they’d left it apart from the blankets trailing from the couch to the door, shed by Mabel in her haste. Ford flipped on the light and gathered up the blankets as he sought in the quiet room for what he wouldn’t find.

Stan came in behind him a few minutes later, Mabel still clinging to his front, peeking out at the room. Ford reached over to stroke her hair reassuringly.

“Nothing here,” he said softly. “It was a nightmare, right?”

She nodded, burying her face in Stan’s front again. Ford took a deep breath. He didn’t want to ask the next question, but he knew he had to.

“Mabel… honey, I need you to tell me what you dreamed about.” She gave him a look of wide-eyed fear and shook her head hard. “I know it’s scary, but I really need to know.”

Stan glared at him. “She’s three, Ford,” he said. “She just had the living daylights scared out of her. She doesn’t have to talk about it.”

Ford sighed. “I know, Stanley, but it might not have been just a dream, and I- I just need to make sure. If it’s what I think- and I’ve never hoped to be wrong so much in my life- then, well. I need to know. Mabel.” He rested a hand on her shoulder. “Talking about it might make you feel better.”

Mabel was quiet, while Ford fretted, but finally she said, very quietly, “‘t was a bad monster.”

Ford nodded, waiting for details, but when nothing more came he got an idea. He reached into his jacket and took out one of his journals- the second one-, flipped to a much-used page, and held it up.

“Is this your monster?” he asked gently. Mabel peeked slowly, then shoved her face back into Stan’s chest with a whimper, nodding quickly. Ford sighed and returned the book to his coat. “Okay. We may have a problem.”

-/-

Stan didn’t get a look at the drawing Ford showed Mabel before he’d put it away again. He didn’t really care, either; Mabel was whimpering and crying into his chest again and he needed to calm her down. Again. He shot his brother a glare and returned his attention to her, petting her hair and murmuring soothing nothings at her until she’d finally sniffled and stilled against him.

“So what’s up?” Stan asked, trying to remember if Mabel had looked through any of Ford’s journals. He didn’t think so; Ford had let Stan look through the first one, but neither of the other two (Stan wasn’t even entirely sure when he’d recovered them; last he’d heard, they were buried in the woods somewhere).

“Bill Cipher,” Ford said. He was pacing, one hand clenched behind his back and the other stroking his chin. Stan shifted Mabel to an easier position to hold, and waited.

When nothing else was forthcoming, “Bill Cipher…?”

“...A demon,” Ford replied hesitantly. “He’s- I’ve had some dealings with him. A dream demon. I thought he was my friend, once, but he deceived me. I haven’t heard from him in a long time, so I’d assumed- I’d  _ hoped _ \- that perhaps he had turned his attention elsewhere.”

He was still pacing, and refusing to look at Stan. Stan’s eyes narrowed.

“What does this have to do with Mabel?”

“Any number of potential things, unfortunately.” Ford rubbed his hands over his face. “Is he attempting to get what he wants from me by targeting my niece? Was he simply targeting the only person in the house asleep at the time? Was it curiosity? Does he have some need for her specifically?” He shook his head. “Without more data, I couldn’t say.”

“Okay. So we’ve got a dream demon with a really stupid name, and he’s targeting you and may be using Mabel or may have some interest in her without you. Anything else I should know?”

Anyone else might not have noticed the way Ford flinched at his words, but Stan did.

“...that sounds like everything important.”

Bullshit.

“Is there any way to protect us from this guy?”

He resumed pacing. “If Project Mentem was working properly I could encrypt your thoughts. However, it isn’t working and I’m not sure what effect it would have on Mabel’s mind. The only other method is…” He sighed. “...the spell I mentioned.”

“The unicorn voodoo.” Stan had wondered if that was going to come up again. “So let’s do that.”

“It’s not so simple.”

“What, unicorns are hard to find or something?”

“Not really. I know where they live and how to summon them, it’s all in here-” He gestured at the pocket that held his other journal. “But even with all of that, the chances of actually acquiring the hair are… very  _ slim _ .”

Stan waved that away. “Tch, that’s no problem. Long odds are my specialty, it’s how I ended up with this little squirt.”

“What?”

“Eh, I’ll tell ya later. So getting the hair is doable, right? What do we need to do?”

“Well, the easiest way is to have the request come from someone who is pure of heart.”

“Oh, is  _ that _ all.” Stan scoffed. He pointed at Mabel. “Doesn’t get much more pure of heart than a three year old.”

“...Oh.” Something unreadable crossed Ford’s face, and he looked down at Mabel, who had her head rested on Stan’s shoulder, watching him sleepily. A smile touched his lips. “Maybe this won’t be as hard as I thought.”

-/-

Stan was the last to go to sleep that night. Mabel was easy enough to calm down; he grabbed a blanket and wrapped her in it, holding her curled up in his lap while he and Ford talked in low voices, planning their excursion to the unicorn’s enchanted glade the next day. Eventually, the comfort and sleepiness won out over her fear, and she settled again, one tiny fist clutching his shirt while she slept.

Ford was next, Stan getting up to chase him from the desk to the couch after he felt his brother had been awake and reading that spooky journal of his for long enough. Ford looked for a moment like he meant to protest, but it was surprisingly hard to argue with a man clutching a sleeping toddler, so Ford closed his journal and slunk over to the couch, looking mutinous and exhausted. 

Once he was lying down, though, Stan shut off the lights and sat on the end of the couch with Mabel in his lap, and the room became that quiet, cosy nest of peace it had become since Stan’s arrival. When he strained his ears at a soft noise, Ford could just make out Stan murmuring a song, and Ford eventually drifted off, their mother’s lullabye settling around him like a cocoon. It was different in Stan’s gruff tone, but their mother had never been much of a singer either, and the peaceful memories it conjured more than made up for that.

-/-

Stan wasn’t aware of falling asleep. He knew that at some point he’d lain down, curled up on the end of the couch, head only a few feet from Ford’s, Mabel curled against him and still wrapped in her blanket. He remembered being cold, and thinking of sitting up to grab another blanket, but his limbs felt heavy, and he’d just gotten comfortable, and it was so hard to settle, and those thoughts had gotten fuzzier and fuzzier until-

\- he was standing on the Stan O’ War’s deck, floating in the middle of a calm sea. In the distance he could make out a strip of beach that the Stan O’ War was heading toward, but before he could decide if it was really tiny or just far away in perspective, the ship had run aground on it and it was... big.

He hopped out of the boat and wandered along the sand idly, wondering what was going on, and then a laugh filled the air around him, a cold, cruel laugh, one that set his hackles up and had him raising his fists instinctively. His eyes darted around; the sand around him was blowing away to reveal the shape of a triangle beneath him, its form centered on a single eye.

“All right, show yourself ya’ demon. I’m not afraid of you”

The laugh had started out coming from all around him, but it converged now until it was beneath him, where the shape in the sand was manifesting as a singular form hovering in front of him.

“Well, well, well!” it said. The voice was higher than he’d been expecting from a dream demon, and the demon itself was… punier. What kind of self-respecting demon wore a bowtie? “Well now, what do we have here?”

The triangle floated around him, looking him all over while he tried to track its motion. It finally stopped, and though it had no mouth, Stan got the impression it was grinning at him.

“Nice to finally meet you, Goldfish. Name’s Bill- put ‘er there!” He stuck out one skinny little stick arm, but Stan just narrowed his eyes. When it became apparent he wasn’t going to shake Bill’s hand, Bill rolled his eye and let his hand fall. “So you’re ol’ Six-Fingers’ dumb, sweaty twin brother, huh? You’re less fat than Sixer said. Have you lost weight, or was he just exaggerating?”

Stan let out a soft, exasperated noise. He’d been expecting something a bit more challenging from a trickster demon, but Bill was going right for the obvious weaknesses, and not even being subtle about it. And yes, he could easily believe that Ford had remarked that Stan was just a dumber, sweatier- and, Stan supposed, fatter- version of himself, but why would that upset Stan? He’d said some pretty rotten things about Ford in the past decade, that was for sure. Besides, it was true.

He lowered his fists. “That track mighta actually worked if you’d tried it first night,” he said. “Or for that matter, if you’d tried it before you attacked my daughter. Now I’m just going to ignore everything you say in favor of punching you.”

“Your-” Bill looked startled, and then burst into high, shrill laughter. “Your  _ daughter _ ? Oh, that is just  _ too _ good!” He wiped a tear from his eye. “Lemme tell ya, Goldfish, I could  _ tell _ you a thing or two about your, heh,  _ daughter _ .” At Stan’s warning look, though, he shrugged. “Or I could just leave you to figure it out yourself. Anyway, I didn’t  _ attack _ her,” he added, slotting finger quotes around ‘attack’. “Your little Shooting Star is here early-  _ way _ early- and I needed to see what that was about.”

“Early? What do you mean, early?”

“Oh, I wouldn’t worry about that if I were you,” Bill said cheerily. He manifested beside Stan and wrapped an arm around his shoulder. Stan glared and shrugged it off. “I just came here to give you a warning.”

“What kinda warning?”

“Just this: your brother is mixed up with some crazy stuff. Really dangerous end of the world biz. And whatever he might tell you, he can’t stop it. The best he can do is delay it for a bit. And if you’re here, then you and your, ahem, ‘daughter’ are going to get caught up in it.” There were those air quotes again. Stan narrowed his eyes. “Take my advice, Goldfish. Take your cute little Shooting Star and get as far away from Gravity Falls and your dear sweet brother as you possibly can. It’s the only way to keep her safe.”

So that was it. Stan moved his hands to his hips. “So you want me to skip town? Just turn my back on my brother and leave ‘im hanging when he’s in danger?”

“Why not?” Bill flipped upside down, and held his arms out in a shrug. “He certainly didn’t mind leaving you hanging when you were the one in danger, right? I’m just trying to look out for you, kid. And your daughter too, of course. She’s way too young to be involved in the kinda stuff your brother is.”

“Ya got a point,” Stan said, nodding thoughtfully. “I don’t want Mabel getting hurt, and if it’s the end of the world we’re talking about...” He trailed off, and Bill’s laughter surrounded him again. He started ascending.

“Just consider it!” he shouted down. “And hey, if you need any more advice, just gimme a call! My number is in the second journal.”

And then he was gone, and Stan was awake. He started, but didn’t sit up or shout or anything. Years on the road had taught him to still himself even at sudden waking; you never knew when leaping up in shock would give away your hiding place.

Stan raised himself slowly onto his elbow and looked around the room. It was dark, but there was enough moonlight coming through the window that he could see Ford was still asleep, albeit uneasily. Mabel was still beside him, looking more content than before. At least that was something.

Shooting Star. Stan spent a moment staring down at her face, turning the title over and over in his mind until it barely seemed like a word anymore. Once it became apparent that he wasn’t going to make sense of it, he slipped carefully away and over to Ford. Ford still had the journal clutched in his hands, but Stan had spent years as a pickpocket and taking a book from a sleeping man- even a jumpy, paranoid, shoot-first-questions-later man like Ford- was a cinch.

It wasn’t that he believed a word Bill was saying, as such. But he knew a conman when he met one- even if he hadn’t been warned already- and he knew that the number one tool a conman kept up his sleeve, the conman’s equivalent of a screwdriver, was the truth. Never tell a lie when a truth will serve you far better, and likewise be easier to keep track of. Bill was probably not being honest with Stan- in fact, Stan would be surprised if he was- but he  _ was _ telling the truth.

Stan needed answers. Ford had not lied to him, but he’d also left out quite a lot of important details, and Stan didn’t trust him to provide any more than he already had.

So if Ford wasn’t going to give him the answers he wanted, he’d get them from another source.

-/-

Stan wasn’t sure if he was getting the answers he needed as he flipped through the journal. The pages regarding Bill seemed to merely give details to what Ford had already told him- the only worrying thing was the talk about summoning him. But Ford had said he thought they were friends- while he didn’t like to think his brother was stupid enough to summon a literal demon, well… actually, no, if it meant gaining information, his brother was exactly stupid enough to summon a literal demon.

“Oh, Ford,” Stan muttered, flipping through. “You could have mentioned that part, it’s not like I would judge… you…” He trailed off. The page he’d found was a- a chart? It looked like something out of a hokey astrology book, like the kind of thing he’d used for that month or so that he’d been a fake psychic before getting banned from Florida, like some kind of zodiac chart. The symbols around it didn’t look like any zodiac he’d ever seen, though.

That wasn’t what drew his eye- no, what drew his eye were three of the symbols. One was the same as the hand on the cover of Ford’s journals. Among the others were a shooting star and a shape that looked remarkably like a goldfish.

The book closed with a snap. Stan crept over and tucked it back under his brother’s hand, then back over to his place on the couch.

Nope. No more spooky journal magic mumbo-jumbo for tonight, thanks.

-/-

They left right after a hurried breakfast the next morning. The snow that had covered the ground for the past few days had melted down at some point, but Stan had Mabel bundled up to the nines anyway, perched on his shoulders as she usually was when they left the house. They were hiking deep into the forest to the enchanted glade where the unicorns lived, and it would be a bit of a hike, especially with snow still clinging to some parts of the woods. Ford led the way, his journal open in his hand, reading the directions he’d carefully mapped out.

Some fifteen or so minutes after they left, Ford looked down to see a boy of about ten skipping along toward them. He came to a halt and beamed up at them from under the fur of a coonskin cap.

“Hiya, Mr. Pines~” he chirped. Stan squinted down at him.

“Hey, kid. You were in the tour group yesterday, right?”

“Yeah! I’m Tyler!” Tyler looked from Stan over to Ford. “You’re… Dr. Pines, right? Mama said if you’re a scientist then you’re probably a doctor, but not the kind that gives shots.”

“That’s true.” He fiddled anxiously with his fingers. “I think I owe you an apology, young man.”

Tyler tilted his head a little. “Why?”

“For yesterday. I handled the intrusion very poorly. I think I scared everyone.”

This just got a laugh. “Aw, why would you apologize for that? That was the best!”

“Was it? But I was very rude- just because I was angry at Stanley, I shouldn’t have taken it out… on…”

But Tyler still looked baffled. “But how else is a tour of a mad scientist’s house supposed to end?”

“I’m not a mad scientist.”

“You seemed pretty mad yesterday.”

“Ah, I see.” Ford’s hands shifted unconsciously behind his back. “You’ve misunderstood the phrase ‘mad scientist’. It’s a simple linguistic issue; mad, in this connotation, refers not to anger but-“ He broke off at an elbow to his ribs from Stanley, whose eyes were glittering with amusement and mischief. Stan gave him a warning look and turned back to Tyler.

“Glad to hear you enjoyed your experience,” he said. “But is there any reason you came out to talk to us?”

“You walked by my house,” he said, gesturing vaguely behind them. They could just see another house through the trees. “I wanted to say hi.”

“...Hi,” Stan said hesitantly.

“Hi!” Tyler waved, then turned and scampered off. The brothers stood staring after him till he’d disappeared back around the trees to his own house, then exchanged a look.

“The locals are friendly,” Stan said.

“He wasn’t even a little bit bothered by yesterday.”

Stan snorted. “I coulda told you that. Nah, they probably would have been disappointed if they didn’t get chased off, honestly.”

“What? Why?! That doesn’t make  _ sense _ .”

“It does if you know people. They weren’t really paying for the tour, they wanted the experience.” He sighed wistfully. “You know, I could make a killing running a place like that.”

“You’re not turning my house into a tourist trap.”

“Did I say I wanted to? I was just saying, in a hypothetical sense, I  _ could _ .”

“You’ll have to find another way to make money,” Ford said firmly. “In fact, you really will if you mean to stay with me. Even if I do succeed in renewing my grant, and even if I account for a dependant in my living expenses, it still won’t be enough to cover everything we need.”

“Eh, I’ll think of something,” Stan said, waving the warnings away. Ford frowned.

“Stan, yesterday you were-“

“Desperate, yeah. But yesterday I hadn’t made enough money to cover a month’s worth of groceries and still fill up my tank, and yesterday my biggest worry wasn’t stopping a dream demon from harassing my daughter. Besides, I’ve never managed to quite land on my feet, but it’s very rare that I fall on my face, too. I’ll find a way to get some more money before this runs out, don’t worry.”

-/-

The rest of the hike to the enchanted part of the forest was uneventful; apart from a pair of enormous bull-men that Ford called “manotaurs” who were probably-hopefully wrestling in the remaining snow, they didn’t run into any paranormal creatures at any point. According to Ford, it would be a few more weeks before they began to come out of their winter hibernation, and those who were active or thriving during the winter lived in other parts of the forest.

“Wait till you see this place in the summer,” he said. “You practically can’t walk without tripping over the paranormal. Sometimes literally!”

He looked so pleased that Stan couldn’t resist a fondly indulgent eyeroll. He couldn’t help the pleased feeling settling into his middle, though, at the mention of seeing the place in the summer. True, Ford had said he could stay as long as he wanted, but it was comments like that, comments that suggested he was  _ looking forward _ to Stan’s presence, that really drove the point home.

“Well, here we are,” Ford said, coming to such an abrupt halt that Stan barrelled into him. “In order to summon the unicorn’s enchanted glade we need some nice deep druidic chanting- I’m not exactly a druid, but I already know that my voice can hit a low enough register. Unless you want to give it a shot?” he added, looking amused at the prospect.

Stan snorted. “Trust me, Sixer, my voice ain’t exactly gotten prettier in the last decade. Actually I think it’s gotten worse.”

“You sound like you’ve been living off of a diet of gravel and cigarettes,” Ford agreed. “All right, just give me a moment.”

Stan adjusted his grip on Mabel’s ankles and watched curiously while Ford prepared. The scrutiny was apparently unwelcome, given the self-conscious blush that spread across his cheeks, but he cleared his throat and started chanting anyway.

-/-

“Okay, full disclosure time,” Stan said, once the land had settled down and they were staring at a large structure where the standing stones had previously been. “I did not actually expect anything to happen here.”

Ford laughed, then sighed as his face fell. “Well, let’s get this over with.”

“Man, you’re an eager beaver, aren’t you?” 

The door had already opened; they stepped through, and Stan’s eyes boggled. He looked around, taking in the technicolor surroundings, and then snorted.

“This place makes me miss Carla McCorkle,” he said wistfully. Ford raised an eyebrow.

“Why? Was she fond of unicorns or something?”

“No…” Stan grinned. “Just, you know. Reminds me of some of the stuff we used to do together.”

“Chasing unicorns?” Ford guessed.

“Chasing  _ something _ .” Stan elbowed his twin, and waggled his eyebrow suggestively, but Ford didn’t get it. Stan sighed in disgust. “Never mind. So where’s this unicorn?”

He needn’t have asked, because no sooner did he than the creature in question trotted out from behind a rainbow and posed dramatically. Stan held one hand up to shield his eyes.

“That thing is walking acid trip,” he said, while above him Mabel oooohed and kicked her feet in delight.

“Greetings!” the unicorn said, or rather, thought projected. 

Ford had alway been fascinated by that part; it was less that it talked, and more that the words appeared inside your head without any apparent means of speech. Bill communicated in the same way; between that and the spell to shield from him requiring unicorn hair, Ford sometimes wondered if perhaps there was some connection between them. Or perhaps it was a case of convergent evolution, or something else entirely.

“My name is Celestibelleabethabelle! Come in, come in… take off your shoes- I have a whole  _ thing _ about shoes.”

Ford sighed, and leaned down to shuck off his boots, while Stan did the same with his own and Mabel’s. Fortunately the glade seemed untouched by the winter, because the grass was comfortable and dry underfoot.

“Celestibelleabethabelle,” Ford began, spreading his hands in a placating manner. “We’ve come here to humbly beg a lock of your enchanted hair, that we might protect our home from one who means us harm.”

He heard Stan scoff off to one side, but ignored him. The unicorn, meanwhile, shifted into a new pose. “Very well!” she called. “Send me the one who is pure of heart, and I shall grant your request.”

“That’s your cue, honey,” Stan said, setting Mabel down. She didn’t need any prompting; as soon as she was on the ground she ran forward, throwing her arms around the unicorn’s nose with a laugh.

“Hi, I’m Mabel! I’m three years old and I love unicorns! Papa says we need your hair! Can we please please please pretty please have some?”

The unicorn looked stunned at the whirlwind of chatter, then raised her head, letting Mabel slip from her muzzle to flop onto the grass.

“I said pure of heart!” she neighed. “This child is not pure of heart! Neigh, I say that she is wicked!”

“What?!” Stan’s fists were up. Ford wasn’t sure he was even aware of it. “Are you serious?”

“She has done bad  _ deeds _ !” the unicorn went on. She leaned down and pointed her horn at Mabel’s chest- Stan took a few steps forward in worry, but all that happened was a heart-shaped glow on the front of her sweater. “She’s a very bad little girl. I’m sorry, but that’s just the way it is.”

Oh dear.

Ford side eyed Stan, wondering if he should try to calm him down, or just grab Mabel, cut their losses and run, and then never ask about the details later.

Here was the thing: Ford had forgotten a lot of his brother’s better points over the past ten years, or rather he’d allowed himself to shove them to the back of his mind in favor of keeping his grudge alive so that he didn’t have the feel the guilt bubbling right beneath it, but the thing he’d remembered quickest, out of all of them, was that there was nothing more important to Stan than family. You didn’t mess with his family. You didn’t hurt his family. And you certainly, if you valued your nose being in the correct place, didn’t insult his family.

And while Ford had only known Stan was a father for three days, he didn’t have any doubts whatsoever that that fierce protectiveness went double, if not triple, for Mabel.

“Mabel, pumpkin,” Stan said, a rather pointy smile taking over his face. “Why don’t you and Uncle Ford go outside for awhile? I think he said something about fairies earlier. Would you like to go see some fairies?”

Cut their losses and run, got it. Ford hurried over and scooped Mabel up, hastening to agree that she’d probably like to see the fairies, yes, let’s go look at them right now, quickly. He cast another side-eye to Stan as he hurried away with her, just as the doors were slamming shut. This was not going to end well for Celesteabelleabethabelle.

-/-

Stan side-eyed over his shoulder, watching the doors close until Ford and Mabel were safely on the other side. Then he turned his attention back to the unicorn with that pointy smile still in place, and raised his fists, knuckle dusters in place.

“All right, Celestiwhowhatever,” he said. “Let’s you and me have a _chat_ about what it means to be pure of heart.”

-/-

Mabel was delighted by the fairies, running around the little grove where their nail salon was located while Ford sat down on a nearly microscopic bench, knees somewhere near his chin while he wrote in his journal about the encounter. After a few minutes, she ran back over to join him, and crawled up into his lap, flatting his legs out and pushing his journal to the side so she could make herself comfortable.

“What’s Papa doing?” she asked. “Why couldn’t we stay with him?”

Ford looked away guiltily. He wasn’t sure how to explain ‘your father asked me to take you away so that you wouldn’t have to witness the almost certain violence going on inside the glade’ without defeating the purpose of taking her away. And how to explain why Stan was upset anyway? Was three old enough to understand the concept of heart purity? He had no idea.

He decided to divert her attention instead.

“Mabel, why don’t you tell me something about yourself?” At her confused look, he clarified, “You know, what do you like to do for fun?”

“Me and Papa play games,” she said. “And I had a ball, but we lost it when we left the ‘part-men.”

Yikes. “What about before you came to live with your Papa? What was that like?”

“Um-” She frowned, face scrunched up in thought, and then shrugged. “I dunno.”

“I suppose you are a bit young to remember much. Is there anything you  _ do _ remember?”

More face-scrunching. “I… I remember Dipper!”

“Who or what is Dipper?”

“Dipper is Dipper.” Well, that was illuminating. “Dipper is my…” God her face was adorable when she was thinking hard. “Dipper is… my you!”

She looked so pleased with herself that he hadn’t the heart to explain that he had  _ no idea _ what she meant.

_ My you _ … What was that supposed to mean, though? Ford was her uncle. Was Dipper another uncle? Had her mother had a brother who was a part of her life? And why did she remember him when the rest of her life seemed to have fallen through the cracks?

Come to think of it, Ford knew nothing about her mother, beyond that Stan referred to her as his ex-wife, and that she was an awful, awful woman who didn’t deserve to share her dna with his sweet and adorable niece.

He’d have to ask Stan later.

-/-

It was a little while after that that they saw Stan again. He wandered into the area looking worse for the wear, his jacket torn down one sleeve and stained with technicolor blood, a cut down one cheek, a thick lock of hair clutched in one hand, and… a small treasure chest tucked under one arm. Ford’s eyebrows climbed up to chat with his hairline.

“Stan, what in the  _ world _ happened?”

“You have to ask?” Stan passed him the hair and the chest, then tied his jacket around his waist and knelt, holding out his arms for Mabel. She hurled her arms around his neck and he stood, bringing her up with him. “Anyway, there’s your hair, and our money problems are sorted out for a little while at least. Also we should probably go because it won’t be long before they realize I stole their gold.”

Yep, that sounded about right. Ford tucked the hair into one of the inner pockets of his coat and buttoned it carefully.

“Come on, then.” He hoisted the chest and they took off at a run, just as a shout of ‘Stop them! They’re thieeeeves!’ erupted from the glade. “Oh and hang onto that jacket! I want to get some samples of the blood!”

-/-

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I feel kinda bad about the unicorns. Yeah, they're jerks, or C-beth is, but the other unicorn explicitly stated that the pure of heart scam was just a way to get humans to leave them alone. Still, they need that hair and also you don't insult Stan's baby.
> 
> Also Ford went and dug up the journals at some point while he was offscreen and I just didn't feel the need to narrate it, I didn't forget that he'd buried them by the point that canon diverged or anything. >,>


	4. The One With Dipper At the End

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Everything is going great for Stan since he turned up on Ford's doorstep, but when the last ten years of your life has been the universe repeatedly ripping the rug out from under you, well, it's hard not to expect it to stick to the pattern.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As a side note, you guys have no idea how hard it is for me not to constantly ghost-describe Stan. Unfortunately my only other pov character is Ford and Ford isn't gonna sit around noticing how attractive he is. My life is an endless ball of suffering, is what I'm getting at here.

-/-

“I’ll have to rearrange the whole house if you two are going to stay here long-term,” Ford said. “I’ll have to actually get around to child-proofing this place.”

He was coloring with Mabel while Stan cooked dinner, drawing careful outlines on the pages from Stan’s ratty spiral notebook that she would then proceed to scribble on with the various colored pens he’d dug out from various nooks and crannies in the house. They’d have to get her some crayons, too. And real toys. A wardrobe that consisted of more than an old t-shirt of Stan’s, a sweater far too large for her, and two alternating shirts to wear under it. And a bed, she couldn’t keep sleeping on the end of the couch, even if it was a step up from the back of Stan’s car. Real child-sized blankets- blocks? He and Stan had had endless hours of fun with their blocks.

“She needs blocks.”

“She needs lots of things.”

“And some new clothes,” he added. “This sweater has seen better days.”

“I’m aware.”

“And real crayons, pens aren’t the same in the least. And a real coloring book.”

“Yes, Stanford, I know. I get it, I’m a terrible father who can’t even afford to get his kid some pretty fucking basic toys, okay? I get it.”

Ford gave Stan a stunned look, while Mabel laughed and zeroed in on the word she shouldn’t repeat, singsonging ‘fucking’ a few times before giggling. Stan rolled his eyes.

“Great, now I have to teach her not to swear. Man, I was doing really well with the potty-mouth, too.”

“Potty-mouth, potty-mouth,” Mabel cheered, and Stan came over to join them, plucking her from Ford’s lap and giving her a cuddle.

“That’s right, honey, your papa’s got a potty-mouth.” She was clearly out of the loop, so he blew a raspberry against her cheek and handed her back to Ford. “Another one for the terrible father pile, I guess.”

“Stanley, you’re not a terrible father.”

“Tch.”

“No, I mean it. That’s not what I was saying at all.”

“Then what were you saying?”

Ford shook his head, and turned a part of his attention back to drawing more shapes for Mabel to scribble on. “Stanley, I only found out I was an uncle less than a week ago. Well, I mean, I was already an uncle, but Shermie lives so far away and I- I haven’t had much to do with the family since I left for college, okay? But Mabel’s here and she’s special because she’s yours and I want to be a good uncle. Uncles are  _ supposed _ to want to get things for their nieces and nephews. That’s all.”

“Yeah, but that’s the thing,” Stan said. “You’re supposed to be getting her extravagant stuff she’d never need in a million years, not basic fu- fudging necessities. You should be building her a jetpack, not talking about a coloring book and a box of crayons.”

“I am not building your daughter a jetpack,” Ford said, and added, because he knew himself too well, “Not for at least another ten years, anyway.”

“Maybe ten years from now I’ll have actually found a way to provide for my own kid.”

“You’re doing the best you can. Stanley, Mabel loves you. You’ll find a way to land on your feet, I know you will. Don’t beat yourself up over this in the meantime. Besides,” he added, “She was dropped on you suddenly and with no warning. Anyone would be scrambling after something like that.”

“Eh, whatever.” He came over with the pan of mac and cheese he’d been making, and once he’d sat down, pulled Mabel over to his own lap so Ford could put the pens and notebook up.

“She’s happy,” Ford said as he returned. “And she has food and a warm place to sleep. That’s what matters. The rest we can take care of. And there’s the unicorn gold,” he added, hoping it would cheer Stan up. He’d taken the chest down to the subbasement, hesitant to leave it just sitting around in the house until they could get up to the city to sell some of it.

“True.” Stan managed a small smile at that. “Finally managed to get that treasure.”

“And once we can sell it we’ll have all the money we need to live off of and buy her all the toys she wants, and I can turn my attention to building her dangerous and inappropriate toys that you’ll take away from her till she’s older, like I should be doing.”

“If you make her a jetpack I expect you to make me one too,” Stan said, momentarily mollified. “So I can keep an eye on her while she’s using it, of course. Not for any selfish reasons of wanting a jetpack.”

-/-

Though they had succeeded in placing the barrier around the house, there was no mention of Ford moving back to his room when he made it apparent he’d spend the night on the couch with Stan and Mabel. It was probably paranoid of him, but he knew he wouldn’t get any sleep if they were in another room, where anything could happen and he wouldn’t know until it was too late.

He’d have to move back into his room eventually. Just… not yet.

Stan got Mabel ready for bed first, and then Ford sat at his desk writing their encounter in the journal while Mabel played on the couch and Stan showered. When the bathroom door opened, steam billowed out around them and ejected a much fresher looking Stan, dressed down to his boxers and a shirt that, while still as ratty and worn as the one he’d been wearing before, was at least clean and not covered in unicorn blood. Even the cut on his cheek and the lingering bruises on his face looked better.

“Do I have any hot water left?” Ford teased, earning a sheepish laugh.

“It uh. It may have been awhile since I’ve had a hot shower,” he admitted.

“Hmm, fair enough.” Ford turned his attention back to his journal, while Stan came over and scooped Mabel up from the couch and grabbed a blanket before settling her in his lap for her bedtime cuddles.

He kept his attention on his work, giving them some semblance of privacy, but he couldn’t help watching them in his periphery. Despite the big day they’d had, Mabel was not worn out enough to settle yet, so Stan entertained her with stories instead. The stories were apparently ones she'd already heard, because occasionally Mabel would correct some detail and Stan would backpedal and restart with the new detail in place.

“You’re right, sweetie,” he’d say. “My memory must be going, thanks for reminding me.”

By the fourth story, Ford had given up all pretense of not paying attention, half turning in the desk so he could watch the story properly. Stan was a  _ great _ storyteller. His whole body got into the act, even accounting for Mabel climbing on him at all the exciting parts. He had a whole slew of silly voices to break out when necessary. He twisted the words around in ways that made it seem the story was going to go one way, then blindsided Mabel (and Ford, not that he’d admit it) when it went a different way.

“And then the monster appeared out of  _ nowhere _ and roared so loud that the princess could smell what he’d had for breakfast that morning!”

He loomed over Mabel and pretend-roared, making a swiping motion at her. She squealed in delight and jumped off of the couch, running over to Ford and hiding behind him while Stan leaned back on the couch and laughed. Mabel was easily distracted, though. She climbed up into Ford’s lap (he might have helped). “What are you doing, Uncle Ford?”

“I’m writing about our excursion today,” he explained, showing her the journal. Distantly, he saw Stan get up to join them, looking slightly worried. Mabel ‘ooohed’ and looked in delight at the page he’d shown her.

“Oooh, is that the monster?” she asked, pointing at a drawing in one corner. Ford looked down, surprised. He hadn’t been aware of it, but he’d doodled the monster Stan described while he was listening to the story.

“Oh. I suppose it is.”

“Hey, lemme see that!” Stan grabbed the journal, squinting down at the doodle in question. Mabel pulled herself to her feet on Ford’s lap, tiny feet digging painfully into his thighs until he’d steadied her, shifting her feet down to rest on the chair instead.

“Is it right, Papa? Is that the monster?”

“Sure is! He looks just like I pic- uh- just like he did when he was telling me this story himself.”

“The monster told you this story?” Ford raised an eyebrow at that. Sure, he could understand the framing device of Stan pretending he was passing on someone else’s stories, but to have them come from the monster?

“Of course he did!” Mabel chirped. “He’s nice!”

“He was just terrorizing the princess,” Ford pointed out.

“That’s ‘cause she scared him,” Mabel explained patiently. “Cause he’s all alone and no one loves ‘im an’ he thought she was a bad person who wanted to hurt him.”

“Really?” He glanced up at Stan, who shrugged. 

“Sometimes a monster just needs a hug to stop being a monster.”

“Ah, I see.” He looked down at the monster he’d doodled, for the first time taking in the big nose and the big ears and the square jaw, the long mane of hair and the hunched shoulders and the soft paunch.  _ Oh _ . “...I wonder what this monster did that made him so monstrous.”

“He was really mean to ‘is best friend,” Mabel said, while Stan suddenly became very interested in his hands. “He hurt ‘is feelings and now ‘is best friend doesn’t love ‘im no more. But it’s okay, Uncle Ford!” Mabel gave him a sunny smile. “Cause him and the princess are gonna find ‘is best friend and he’s gonna say sorry and then they’ll be friends again. Right, Papa?”

They both looked at Stan, who was turning red. As a distraction, he opened his arms in invitation, and Mabel climbed over Ford’s shoulder to launch herself into his embrace, kicking Ford’s glasses aside as she did. By the time he’d retrieved them and put them back on, Mabel was trying to hide a yawn, and Stan looked a little less sheepish.

“I been telling her these stories for awhile,” he said. “She uh, likes to hear some of them over and over. Like the one about the monster being alone until the princess came to him and hugged him until he was happy again.”

He looked nervous, like he was ready for Ford to mock him, but instead Ford turned back to his drawing, adding a few details while he thought.

“Have they managed to find his best friend yet?” he asked.

Mabel nodded. “They know where he’s at,” she said. “They’re gonna go visit ‘im and say sorry real soon, but Papa says he can’t tell me that part till ‘e sees the monster again and asks ‘im how it went.” She stifled another yawn, so Stan carried her back over to the couch. “But it’s gonna be okay because the monster is nice and so ‘is best friend must be nice too, and they love each other and they’re gonna hug and then they’ll all be happy again.”

“That’s right, pumpkin,” Stan said, settling her in her nest of blankets. “But that part will have to wait till later. It’s time to sleep now.”

“But I’m not tired.”

“No?” Stan gave her a reassuring smile. “Then it’s time to lay down in the dark with your eyes closed so you can think about all the adventures the monster and the princess are having.”

“Oh… okay.” She pouted, but he wasn’t budging on the matter, so after a moment of this she raised her arms and scrunched her face up pointedly. “Kisses.”

“That’s my girl,” he said, scooping her up for one last round of goodnight hugs and kisses.

Once he’d got her settled back down, he stood and left the room, still refusing to meet his brother’s eye, so Ford got up and hurried after him, trailing behind him until they’d reached the kitchen. Stan was standing in the doorway with his arms folded, staring at the dishes that had piled up in the sink over the past few days.

“... One of us should really get around to washing these,” Stan said. He didn’t move toward them, though, until Ford touched his elbow.

“Come on, we’ll do them faster if we do them together.”

-/-

“You’re good with her,” Ford said, after they’d got the dishes started, and, as he remembered their conversation earlier, “Who is Dipper?”

“I don’t know,” Stan shrugged. “When she first came to live with me she kept crying and begging for Dipper, wanted to know where Dipper was, why Dipper wasn’t here. So I asked. She just said ‘Dipper is Dipper.’ I guess it’s someone her mother knew.”

Ford pursed his lips. “Speaking of which...”

“Oh, you want to hear that story, do you?”

“You did say you’d tell me.”

Stan nodded. “It’s not a really exciting story,” he began. “I was in Vegas about... I don’t know, a little over four years ago now.” He broke off and made an irritated noise. “I’d made out pretty well- I’d be set for awhile on my winnings, and I’d been smart enough to cash out before the house could start winning it back. I went to a bar to have a few drinks to celebrate, and this woman came over and started flirting with me.”

“Mabel’s mother, I assume?”

“Marilyn, yeah, you guessed it. And yeah, I knew she was only interested in me for my winnings, but she was smoking hot and all over me and it’d, you know, it’d been awhile. You know what it’s like when you haven’t gotten laid in forever.”

“You don’t know that I-” He broke off at Stan’s pointed stare, and sighed. “Yeah, all right. I know.”

“Yeah. So, this woman is smoking hot and all over me, so I buy ‘er a few drinks, and one thing leads to another, and next thing I know...” He paused, and squinted, then shook his head. “The night is kind of a blur, but when I woke up the next morning I had a splitting headache, an expensive ring, and a marriage I couldn’t get annulled because we’d already, er, consummated the union.”

Ford raised an eyebrow at him. “I see.”

Stan chuckled. “And made that little gremlin, too, heh. Best thing to come out of that.” He paused his story again, saying nothing while he scrubbed some dried eggs off of the frying pan. “Anyway, Marilyn tells me her cousin is a divorce lawyer and since he’s family we can get things moved really quickly through the system because he’ll be willing to forge some papers for us. Which is the point that I should have realized it was a scam, but I didn’t, because before I knew it she’d left and taken my winnings with her. I was going to use that to go home,” he added, so softly that Ford almost didn’t catch it. He reached over and rested a reassuring hand on his brother’s shoulder, gave it a squeeze.

There was a long silence, during which Stan scrubbed wordlessly at dirty dishes while who-knew-what ran through his mind.

“Anyway,” he said after a while. “About three months ago some guy turned up at my door- I still had a door for him to turn up in back then- and had Mabel with ‘im, along with a note from Marilyn saying she was tired of being a mom so Mabel could be my problem now.”

Ford’s fist clenched around the plate in his hand, and something of his ire must have shown on his face because Stan gave a hollow laugh. “I know. What kinda parent gives up their child so easily, right?”

He nodded, and said, hesitantly, “Stan, I know it won’t really change anything for you at this point, but are you sure that...?”

“I’m sure.” He was actually smiling now. “I thought about it, but the math checks out and I... you’ve seen ‘er, Ford. She’s a Pines. She’s even got the Pines cowlicks.” He reached back and ruffled at the cowlicks in question, a tuft of hair that refused to grow or lie flat no matter what they did. Both of them had them, and their brother and nephew had as well, last Ford had seen pictures.

“She looks like Shermie,” Ford said thoughtfully, his brother’s image floating through his mind at the reminder, and Stan chuckled.

“Right? Lucky kid, she’ll be glad she didn’t end up with my face.”

“Hey, come on.” He shoved Stan playfully. “Don’t say things like that, we have the same face.”

“She’ll be really glad she didn’t end up with  _ your _ face,” Stan teased, sticking his tongue out. “If she does take after one of us, I’d hope it’d be the better looking twin.”

“You have a mullet, Stanley.”

-/-

The unicorn gold was like a balm to Stan’s wounded soul, but it made him feel a lot of really confusing feelings all the same. Primary importance, of course, was that once they could get into the city and sell some of it, it would be awhile before they had to worry about money again. He’d have to find some reliable means of income, but he’d been granted breathing room, and now he had the luxury of finding means that didn’t chafe at him. It meant he could finally take the time to think about what he  _ wanted _ to do, instead of thinking only as far forward as his next meal.

But it felt somehow…  _ too _ easy. The universe had thrown him a few bones over the years, yes, like always managing to get his car back no matter how many times he’d parted from it, the number of times he’d avoided being killed, and Mabel, his precious Mabel, who frankly he wasn’t sure counted given he knew it was only a matter of time before he ruined everything with her.

Which was what it boiled down to, really. The universe threw him the occasional bone, but it always demanded a hefty price in return, and now Stan had been given pretty much everything he ever wanted: he was a father, he had his brother back, they’d gone on an adventure and come away with treasure. If Ford suggested building a boat together he would literally be living his dream. He was being set up for some phenomenal loss, and he wasn’t sure he would survive having his heart shattered so intensely when it was all ripped away from him.

There was another thing, too. He felt like he was already falling into the habit of riding on Ford’s coattails again. True, he’d been the one to steal the gold, but it was Ford who had discovered how to find the enchanted glade and summon the unicorns and he could have beaten that unicorn to a pulp just as easily- while he’d never taken to boxing as well as Stan had, he’d apparently gotten pretty buff over the past decade, to the point that if Stan didn’t have a hefty layer of fat over his muscle they’d be the same size for the first time since they were tweens.

The point was: Stan was not providing for his family, and everything he’d been given since he’d arrived on Ford’s door seemed to be rubbing that in his face. Ford was there to bail him out, and everything was going well all of a sudden? He wasn’t landing on his feet, he was just leaning on Ford again. His brother deserved someone who could pull his own weight in their household- someone who deserved to  _ call it _ ‘their’ household.

Stan’s thoughts were keeping him awake and it was barely light out, so Stan rolled out of bed and went to make breakfast. He made French toast because it was a nice change-up from pancakes, and was just putting them on the table when Mabel shuffled in, rubbing her eyes sleepily.

“Good morning, Papa,” she mumbled.

“Morning, pumpkin. Wanna go for a walk after breakfast?”

She nodded, so Stan set about making a plate of French toast for Ford, which he set under the cake dome when he was done. A walk would do him some good, give him a chance to clear his head and spend a little time with just Mabel to boot.

It was a nice day. Still unseasonably cold, but the sun was shining and the wind wasn’t blowing very hard. After piling their dishes in the sink he left Ford sleeping with a note pinned to his shirt and bundled Mabel up, then headed out for their walk, Mabel perched on his shoulders and directing his steps when they came to a turning. He wasn’t sure where they were going, but after wandering aimlessly through the woods for awhile he heard shouts and laughter coming from nearby, and course corrected to check it out.

It was a crowd of loggers, or at least he assumed by their collective burliness and the excess of flannel that they were loggers. They were gathered in a cluster around a ring that had been carefully scratched into the earth, watching two of their number duke it out. He looked around, taking in the good-natured cheers, the guy acting as ref, and the guy taking bets, and nodded. Okay, nothing high-strung, just some friendly sparring.

Well, he could work with that. He pushed his way through the crowd to get nearer the ring. The current combatants were Dan and another guy he didn’t recognize, but while he looked on Dan sent his opponent flying with one punch. Stan looked over at the guy, climbing painfully to his feet, and then to Dan, who was looking pleased with himself, and a grin spread across his face.

He looked around again, hoping to find a face he recognized, and his gaze landed on young Tyler, whose eyes were lit up with delight. He sidled through the crowd until he was standing next to the kid.

“Hey, Tyler.”

“Hi, Mister Pines!” Tyler said, not taking his eyes from Dan and the new challenger, who would likely not fare any better than his predecessor had. As Dan grappled with the other guy, Tyler pumped his fists and shouted, “Get ‘im! Get ‘im!” and then cheered with the others when he did. Stan chuckled.

“I take it Dan is the crowd favorite?”

“He’s the strongest guy in the camp!” he said. “He always wins.”

“So anyone fighting against him probably has pretty low odds on the books, huh?”

“What does that mean?” Tyler asked, looking away to give Stan a puzzled look, while Dan looked around for his next challenger.

“Nothing, nothing. Hey, I think I might go a round, try my mettle. Can you hold onto Mabel for me while I’m in the ring?”

“Well, sure, but are you sure? No offense, but Dan’s twice your size and he’s known as the local punching enthusiast.”

“Just looks like fun,” Stan said vaguely, and carefully set Mabel down beside Tyler. “Mabel sweetie, I’m going to go fight Dan, okay? It’s just a bit of friendly sparring so don’t be scared, okay? Just stay with Tyler. Hold his hand and don’t run off. Okay?”

She nodded and took the hand Tyler held out to her. “Okay, Papa.”

“That’s my girl.” He made a motion as though ruffling her hair, straightened her hat back, and then strode over to the nearby bookie. “Hey, pal. What kind of odds would you set for me to beat Dan over there?”

The bookie looked him over and told him. Stan laughed, and passed him some of the money he’d been keeping back. “Fair enough. I’ll be back for my winnings in a few minutes.”

-/-

Stan stuffed his hands into his pockets while he ambled into the ring. His air was casual, easy-going, the sort that would annoy an opponent who took himself too seriously. Dan squinted down at him, then pulled himself to his full- and impressive- height.

“You can’t be serious!” he bellowed. “Gimme a  _ real _ challenge, come on!”

“Hey, come on,” Stan said. “I just thought this looked like fun. Hey, what are the regs? Are you abiding by Fantailler rules?”

“By what?”

“You know, the Marquis de Fantailler’s rules for fair combat in the noble art of fisticuffs. Are we keeping to ‘em?”

Dan guffawed. “You need rules to fight, little man?”

“Just checking. So no rules?”

“Only rules are no weapons, and if you leave the ring or go down for the count you’re done.”

It was almost too easy. Stan dropped into a ready stance. “All right. I can live with that.”

-/-

The fight was over embarrassingly quickly. It was true that Dan was bigger than Stan, and his arms were a couple of logs bulging with muscle, and had he landed a single blow Stan would have been out and probably  _ out _ as well. But that all required him to  _ land _ a blow, and Stan had too much experience fighting larger opponents to let that happen. Before anyone was entirely sure what had happened, Dan had staggered backwards out of the ring and landed heavily on his backside with a grunt, and Stan had retrieved Mabel and his winnings without breaking a sweat.

He returned Mabel to her previous perch and strode off, ruffling the money he’d won thoughtfully before shoving it into his pocket. He hadn’t made it far before he heard heavy breathing and turned to see Tyler awkwardly running to catch up with him.

“That was super cool, Mister Pines!” he cheered. “But how did you do it?”

Stan waved that away and started walking again, Tyler trailing behind him. “I used to box in high school,” he said. “Dan’s tough, but he’s all punching, no technique. Any boxer worth his salt would have been able to take him down.”

Not entirely accurate, of course: he had to fight people, often large and numerous and genuinely trying to kill him on a regular basis, and after that, a friendly bout with rules- no matter how few those rules were- was a piece of cake. But he wasn’t about to tell Tyler that. He liked the kid, he didn’t want to scare him.

“So what’re you gonna do with all that money, Mister Pines?”

Stan stopped, and then grinned. "I’m gonna go buy my daughter some crayons.”

-/-

The clothing store was the first place Stan stopped off at. He wanted to buy Mabel toys, had wanted it since that first night that she’d settled into his arms like she belonged there and become the gravitational center of his own personal universe. She hadn’t had any when she came to him- something he hated Marilyn for, because she could have packed some toys when she dumped her on him- and though he’d tried, he hadn’t managed more than to steal a few knick-knacks that had fallen apart far too quickly.

But she needed clothes. Ford was right, that sweater had seen better days. It had been worn when he got her, and their three months together had done it no favors. So he took her to the clothing store, and let her pick out a few dresses and pants and shirts and sweaters, a whole week’s worth of sweaters, she could wear a different one every day if she wanted, and when it was time to go he even paid for half of it, only shoplifting the rest out of instinct.

And then it was on to the toy store.

The way her eyes lit up at the sight of all those toys was too much for Stan’s heart to take. He set her down in front of a wall stacked floor to ceiling with stuffed animals, and knelt beside her.

“Go ahead and pick some,” he said. “A girl needs a few stuffed friends to play with.”

She picked out three to start, a goat and a snake and a badger, and then dropped all three with a delighted squeal before running off as fast as her little legs could take her to a stuffed pig about half her own size, which had fallen to the floor at some point. She picked it up and gave it a squeeze, so hard that Stan worried the thing was going to burst its seams.

“Papa I want it!” she shouted, so excited that she flopped down to sit cross-legged on the floor, still squeezing the pig. “It’s the best thing ever! Please please please please please please please? Please?”

What he wouldn’t give to make her that happy every day of her life.

He reached down and scooped up the other toys she’d picked out, then went over to join her, ruffling her hair before taking one of her hands, her other staying clutched firmly around the pig’s neck.

“Okay, okay, no need to shout. I did tell you to pick some out, didn’t I?”

The rest of the shopping was uneventful; Stan found a cart and set Mabel and her pig in it while he went looking for a few other things. A couple of coloring books, a box of crayons, a tub of blocks, and after checking the age advisory, a few cans of playdoh. She’d probably have loads of fun with that, he suspected.

There. Now his daughter had toys and a real wardrobe on top of the food and warm place to sleep, and Stan had gotten those for her all on his own, without needing to lean on his brother in any way.

Maybe he could be a good provider after all.

And the way she was clinging to that pig and looking at him like he’d given her the world instead of just a few stuffed animals made cheating to beat Dan completely worth it.

-/-

When they got home, the living room was overflowing more than usual, objects piled and stacked and stuffed onto any available surface. Stan set the bags on the floor by the door and wandered deeper into the house in search of his brother.

“Ford?”

“I’m up here!” came the response from up in the attic. Stan headed up, and found Ford taking things out of a dresser shoved against one wall. The attic looked much like the living room had.

“What’s all this?”

“Stanley, I’m glad you’re home. Where did you go, anyway?”

“I had some errands to run. What’re you doing?”

“I’m cleaning out the bedroom so you and Mabel can settle in properly. And then I realized there was no dresser, and I’ve had this one up here gathering dust for a couple years now- I’m trying to get everything out of it so I can put it up for you.”

“Oh. Hey, speaking of which-“

“Here, I pulled the drawers out so we should be able to maneuver it downstairs- get the other end- what do you think, Mabel?” he added, because Mabel had come over to inspect the dresser.

“It’s pretty!” she declared, and set her pig in one of the cubbyholes created by the lack of drawers. Ford raised an eyebrow at the pig.

“Where did she get that?”

“I bought it for her,” Stan said proudly. “I made a little money off of the lumberjacks and I figured you were right about her needing stuff so I got her some clothes and toys.”

“Off of the lumberjacks? How?”

“They were having some friendly sparring matches so I bet on myself to beat Dan.”

“And you won? Really?”

He looked surprised, so Stan glared and jabbed a finger in his direction. “You don’t have to look  _ that _ disbelieving,” he groused.

“I’m not- I’m just-“ He shook his head. “Stan, Boyish Dan is a proud punching enthusiast. And he’s twice your size, and you haven’t got a mark on you. Um, that wasn’t already there.”

“Eh.” Stan shrugged. “Punching ain’t everything. He’s got no technique, it wasn’t even hard.”

“Ah, I see. I’d always assumed- but I suppose you do have a history of fighting opponents twice your size.”

“You have no idea,” and because he didn’t want Ford to ask and to have to give him an idea, “All right, you wanted my help with this dresser?”

They got the dresser downstairs, then headed back up to bring down the drawers, and then Stan showed off all the new clothes he’d bought for Mabel while he folded them all and put them into the drawers. It was still a pitiful amount, enough for just two of the six drawers, but Stan refused to be downhearted. They’d get up to the city with that gold any day now and he’d buy her a whole bedroom worth of toys.

“Did you buy any clothes for yourself?” Ford asked, once Stan had set Mabel’s toys into the bottom drawer so she could get to them and put them away easily. Stan shrugged.

“I didn’t win  _ that _ much. I’ll be fine, I’ve got stuff.”

“Stan, no offense, but that jacket alone has seen better days. And you’ve only changed your shirt once since you got here.”

“It’s a good jacket.”

“It really isn’t.”

“I’m fine, don’t worry about it.”

“If you need things to wear, you could borrow something of mine.”

“I’m pretty sure I couldn’t  _ fit _ into anything of yours,” Stan pointed out, gesturing down at himself. He waved an absent hand. “It’ll be fine. Once we sell that unicorn gold I’ll get some stuff, but I’ve got a few changes in the car, I just haven’t gotten around to dragging them out.”

“And the coat? Stanley, this isn’t New Mexico. A week ago I found a squirrel frozen solid outside the house. We've been getting some really unseasonable weather lately. I’ve got a couple of spares, you’d be welcome to them.”

“I’m  _ fine _ , Sixer,” he repeated, a little more insistently.

“I’m just worried-“

“I don’t need your handouts!”

“...What?”

Stan turned away, pinching the bridge of his nose irritably. “Sorry. I shouldn’t have snapped at you.”

“Stan, what are you…” Ford looked worried. Stan dug his hands into his eyes.

“I don’t… need you to provide everything for me,” he said slowly, trying to get his feelings into words. “You’re already giving me enough as it is, I need to… I don’t want to be a freeloader riding around on your coattails.”

“Riding on my coattails?” Ford sighed. “Stan, be reasonable. You used the first money you earned since getting here to buy us groceries, and the second to take care of your daughter’s needs. I think loaning you a jacket I’m not even using for a few days hardly counts as freeloading.”

“You’re giving us a place to live,” Stan countered. “You're putting a roof over my daughter's head and giving her somewhere to sleep that isn't the backseat of a _car_. The groceries balance that out- honestly, they don’t even begin to. It doesn’t count.”

“You beat up a unicorn to get the ingredients to protect my house from a literal demon. You destroyed the plans for the portal to ensure no one else can recreate my mistake. And you came when I asked you to, even though you had every right to stay away. And you’re my  _ brother _ , and I want to help you, because you deserve it.”

“I don’t… really think those things count, either,” Stan said, rubbing the back of his neck. “I mean… they were just the thing to do.”

“Well maybe I think loaning you a jacket so you don’t freeze to death until you can replace yours feels to  _ me _ like the ‘thing to do’.” Ford rested a hand on Stan’s shoulder. “Stanley, please. Let me make up for not being there when you needed me sooner.”

“Oh, well.” Stan rolled his eyes, pouncing on the face-saving out Ford was offering. “If we’re gonna make this about you and your feelings…”

-/-

“I’ll have to clean out another of these rooms for Mabel at some point,” Ford said later that night.

“No rush,” Stan replied. “It’ll be awhile before I’ve even got her comfortable sleeping in her own bed, let alone her own room.”

“We’ll have to actually  _ get _ her her own bed before we even do that.”

He and Stan had worn themselves out getting the room fixed up and moving all of Ford’s junk up to the attic or down to the lab, depending on whether it needed to go into storage or remain actively in use. They’d sprawled out to rest in the tv room, or what would be the tv room if in six years Ford had ever gotten around to buying a tv, too tired to do anything else.  Mabel had dragged her new tub of blocks into the room and was stacking them up in a single, wobbly column that was going to fall any minute now. Stan was watching her fondly, so when there was a knock on the door it was Ford who got up to answer it.

Stan couldn’t see the door from where he sat, but Mabel could, and barely seconds after Ford had opened the door she jumped to her feet and streaked to the door, scattering blocks everywhere while a high-pitched squeal of, “Dipperrrrrrrr!!!” trailed behind her. Stan climbed to his feet and followed his daughter to see what was going on. 

At the door, he found Ford staring stunned at a stranger dressed all in back, face hidden behind a hood and scarf and dark glasses. The stranger was holding a small boy in his arms, and Mabel was jumping, trying to reach said boy, but even as Stan joined them he set the boy down and Mabel pounced, squeezing him even harder than she had her pig.

“Stan,” Ford said dully. “I think I figured out who Dipper is.”

-/-

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The day will come when I actually describe a fight on screen in this fic but today is not that day.


	5. The One Where Stan Has Another Baby

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Even as a teenager Stan had always looked forward to having kids one day. True, he'd always assumed he'd go about things the ordinary way after he and Ford were adventured out, but, well, he got there in the end and that's the part that counts.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just want you guys to know that I love it when you speculate in the comments about what future developments might be in store. I should have gotten into the GF fandom ages ago, it's literally all I ever want.

-/-

Stan stared down at the little boy his daughter was hugging, trying to kick his brain into cooperating with him.

A twin. She had a  _ twin _ . He had a  _ son _ . And for three months- three months that he’d spent bonding with Mabel, loving Mabel, doing everything he could for Mabel- for  _ three fucking months _ he’d been robbed of that opportunity with  _ his son _ .

He wasn’t even aware he’d moved until he’d grabbed the stranger by the front of his stupid sci-fi longcoat and slammed him against the door with a growl.

“How  _ fucking _ dare you,” he hissed. “You better have a damn good explanation for why you didn’t bring both of them to me at once.”

“You weren’t in a position to take both of them when I brought her to you,” the stranger said softly. His voice was... oddly familiar, but Stan was too furious to place it now. It had a quality that reminded him of Ford’s, but harsher and grittier. Like if Ford was thirty years older and had spent the intervening time sucking gravel through a straw.

“You shouldn’t have separated them.”

“Stanley.” 

Stan snapped out of his ire when a heavy hand took his shoulder, and he realized he could hear crying over the angry roaring in his ears. He looked around and saw Mabel and- and Dipper clinging to each other. Dipper was the one crying, but Mabel looked pretty upset herself.

He let go of the stranger like he’d been burned. He’d forgotten in his ire that there were kids present, small impressionable easily frightened children.  _ His _ children. He knelt in front of them, the stranger forgotten.

“Hey, hey, come on, easy. It’s okay. I’m sorry I scared you- I didn’t mean to, okay?” He reached for the boy, hoping to comfort him somewhat, but Dipper just shrunk away from him, pulling Mabel with him. Stan’s hands dropped. “O-oh. Okay. I’ll just, uh. I’ll just.”

“May I?” The stranger had joined him, and Stan reluctantly shuffled out of the way, letting him crouch down beside him. Dipper ran to him and clung tightly to his front, and oh boy, did that ever hurt.

After scant moments, though, the stranger pulled him away, putting space between them. “Listen,” he said quietly. “I know it’s scary. But this is your home now, just like I promised. I said I’d bring you to your family, right?”

Dipper sniffled, and peeked over at Stan, and then nodded. “I wanna go with you,” he mumbled.

“That’s not possible.” He rested his hands on Dipper’s shoulders. “I know you’re afraid, but I promise you’ll be happy and loved here. Just give it time.”

Another pause stretched into eternity, and then the stranger stood abruptly. He turned to Stan. “His real name is Mason,” he said. He unshouldered a backpack Stan hadn’t noticed and handed it over. “Everything he has is in here. There’s some money too, and all of his official documents. Same deal as with Mabel.”

“You should have brought them both to me,” Stan repeated. He took the backpack, and the stranger turned to go. As he was passing through the door, Stan called after him, “And hey! When you tell Marilyn about this, tell her I said fuck you! That goes for both of you!”

And just barely resisted slamming the door and scaring Dipper even more than he had, then leaned against it and sank to the floor with a tired sigh; he only dimly registered Ford joining him, and turned his head slightly to give him a defeated look.

“So what now?”

-/-

It took quite some time to convince Dipper that Stan wasn’t going to hurt him, a time during which he latched onto Ford almost effortlessly (and that _didn't hurt_ , Stan insisted to himself, and wished he believed it). It was therefore Ford who took care of getting some dinner into him, getting him a bath, and putting him to bed later while Stan took care of Mabel.

Mabel, for her part, didn’t want to be farther than arm’s reach from Dipper, which Stan honestly didn’t blame her for, but it did mean getting the kid ready for bed difficult since Dipper didn’t want Stan anywhere near him. He only tolerated it if Ford was there, but by the time they settled the two on the couch, he’d at least accepted that Stan  _ probably _ wasn’t going to hurt him.

He scooted away nervously when Stan kissed Mabel good night, though, so Stan decided not to try any kind of affection on him. He wasn’t going to get through the kid’s boundaries by force, even if all he wanted right now was to hold his son and never let him go. He settled for telling a story, one of the old ones, but already his mind was racing forward, trying to decide how to incorporate this new development into them (should he give his princess a long-lost twin brother? Should they find him before or after the monster reunited with his best friend? Why was Stan thinking so hard about this?).

Once he and Ford had slipped out, leaving the twins (twins!) asleep in the bedroom, he let out all his frustrations in a harsh huff of breath.

“The nerve of that guy!” he whisper-growled. “Keepin’ my kid away from me like that! I shoulda punched ‘is lights out!”

“And no doubt made your son even less willing to go near you than he already is,” Ford pointed out. “That man was his guardian for three months. He had to have formed some kind of bond with him, attacking him only scared the boy.”

“I know, I know!” Stan ruffled irritably at his hair. “I just got so angry. Aw, man, Ford, what am I gonna do? I managed to make my own son scared of me. Hell of a first impression, huh?”

“He’ll come around with time, don’t worry. Did Mabel take long to adapt to you as her guardian?”

“No, she had no trouble at all, honestly. She was a little shy at first, but by the end of the night she was snuggling up to me like she’d been with me her whole life. We bonded so easily- guess it makes sense that Dipper’d be the flipside. S’how it usually works.”

“It’s the circumstances,” Ford assured him. “Maybe that’s why he brought you Mabel first- because she would bond more easily, and make the transition to parenthood smoother for you.”

“Shoulda brought me both of them,” Stan muttered petulantly, but there was no feeling to it. He gave Ford a small smile. “Hey, Sixer. I got  _ twins _ .”

“You’re really pleased by that, aren’t you?”

“Course I am.” He grinned wider now. “Being a twin is the best feeling in the world. Now my kid- my  _ kids _ \- get to grow up knowing that feeling too.” He threw an arm around his twin’s shoulder and tugged him close, close enough he could reach over and noogie him playfully. “I am glad I got you here, though. Something tells me those two are gonna be a handful.”

-/-

With Dipper now a part of their family, it was more important than ever to get some real money, so the next morning, Ford took a turn at cooking breakfast while Stan dug up a magnifying glass and sat appraising some of the jewels from the treasure. The jewels would be easier to sell, he’d said. They’d draw less attention than a bunch of gold coins with a unicorn head on them.

“Who knew unicorns had a system of currency?” Stan said. “Anyway, a few of these should be more than enough, we can keep the rest stored for another time.”

Once he’d decided on which jewels they’d be selling, he transferred them to a velvet bag and tucked them away in the inner pocket of his borrowed coat. It didn’t fit him right- Stan’s shoulders were just too broad, his arms too thick; they strained the seams when he moved- but Ford had made him swear he’d get things for  _ himself _ today too, not just for the kids, and he’d decided privately that buying Stan some new clothes would be their first priority.

Dipper was still scared of Stan and reserved around Ford, but they’d found the key to getting him to work with them, and that was letting Mabel do anything they needed him to do first. As near as they could tell, his logic was rock-and-a-hard place: if Mabel did it, it wasn’t dangerous, if it was dangerous, he couldn’t let Mabel face it alone. It was unideal, but it would work for now, until they’d managed to show Dipper that he was in no danger.

The boy sat close to Mabel in the backseat of the old El Diablo- Ford was amazed, going by what he’d learned of Stan’s life for the past ten years, that he’d not only kept hold of it, but kept it in good condition. Well, relatively good condition. It needed a thorough cleaning, inside and out, but that aside it was running well. How had he managed to cling to it so well?

Ford was lost in his thoughts about his brother and his car and how proud he’d been of it when Pa had loaned him the money and let him work in the shop to pay it off when the car skidded to a halt. They hit a wet patch and Stan cut off a swear as the car started careening in a wild circle. Ford braced himself while Stan fought to keep the car from crashing or hitting anything, aware of the children screaming in the backseat and him unable to do anything about it.

“What happened?!” Ford demanded, once they halted. His heart was pounding in his chest and the children were still yelling.

“Some nutjob ran out in front of us!” Stan shouted, but Ford’s eyes had already landed on the nutjob in question. He threw open the door and struggled with his seatbelt, half collapsing out of the car once he’d freed himself.

“Fiddleford!”

And it was Fiddleford. His old friend was kneeling in the middle of the road, staring at the chaos with a bewildered look on his face.

“Fiddleford! Are you all right?”

Fiddleford blinked blearily at him, but accepted the hand Ford offered to help him to his feet.

“Stanford?”

-/-

Stan shouted a question at his brother when Ford threw himself out of the car, but the kids took priority. He twisted around so he could see them.

“Hey, you kids okay back there? Not hurt or anything?”

They’d at least stopped screaming, but they were clearly upset. They shook their heads, though, and some tension fell from his shoulders at the assurance. Okay, good.

“I’m gonna go park the car out of traffic,” he said. “Then I’ll get you two out of the car so you can calm down.”

They didn’t object, but they did cling to one another extra hard while he pulled the car over to the nearest parking lot. Once they were out of the car, Mabel threw herself into his arms, burying her face in his chest and clinging tightly. Dipper looked torn, needing to be near Mabel but scared to be held by Stan, so Stan slid down to sit beside the car, leaning his back against the tire while he held Mabel and let Dipper move hesitantly nearer until he was leaning on Stan’s arm, Mabel’s hand in his and their heads pressed together.

It only took a few minutes, all told, to calm them down. Once he had, he set Mabel down with her brother and took her hand, Mabel taking Dipper’s hand with her free one, and led them over to where Ford was talking to the man who’d run out in front of them. Ford turned away from them as Stan came up.

“Oh, good. Are the kids all right?”

“Just a little spooked,” Stan said, giving the other man a suspicious look. The other man returned his look, then smiled.

“You must be Stanley,” he said.

“Heard of me, have you?”

“It’s been all over town,” he replied. “Besides, Stanford used to talk about you.”

“We went to college together,” Ford said, a blush creeping up his face. 

Stan looked from his twin to the man, and something unidentifiable twisted in his middle. Ford had talked about him? At college, when their estrangement was still a raw wound, the college itself a huge saltblock being rubbed into it every single day?

“What kinda stuff did he talk about?” Stan asked, forcing a casual tone he didn’t feel in the slightest. “Told you how I was the better-looking twin, right?”

“N-nooo…” The man shook his head. “But he did cuss up a blue streak when one of your commercials was playin’ in the student center and everyone found out he was a twin.”

“Oh.” Stan tried to keep his disappointment out of his voice, but judging by the man's confused look he hadn’t succeeded. He wished he’d been smart enough to just leave Ford being willing to acknowledge his existence where it was, and enjoy it, but Ford’s embarrassment had him hoping and he couldn’t help prodding at it-

-it was fine, he told himself. They were together  _ now _ and they were friends again and they were going to make things work and that was the part that mattered. So the fact that Ford hadn’t even wanted all his college friends to even know he was a twin at all didn’t sting, and it didn’t leave something deep inside him clenching painfully. It was  _ fine _ .

“This is Fiddleford,” Ford said. “He used to be my research assistant.” 

They helped Fiddleford out of the street and over to the El Diablo, and then Stan snapped his fingers as the memory came back to him.

“McGucket!” he said suddenly, and got an odd look from both of them. “Dan mentioned the other day- he was coming over to tell you the guy had walked out into traffic again. That’s you, right? You gotta stop walking out into traffic, man, someone is gonna get hurt.”

“Oh, right,” Fiddleford said. “I did have another accident the other day, didn’t I?”

“You don’t remember?” Ford gave him a concerned look, and without warning took Fiddleford’s head in one hand, tipping it back so he could look at his eyes. Fiddleford batted him away.

“Knock it off, Stanford,” he grumbled. “I’m fine, just a bit disoriented.”

“You’ve apparently made enough of a habit out of walking out into traffic that Boyish Dan thinks  _ I _ should know about it,” Ford pointed out. “I just wanted to make sure.”

“Well now you’re sure an’ you can stop waitin’ for me to start cacklin’. That’s your thing anyways.”

Ford seemed irritated, moreso when Fiddleford, in an obvious dismissal, turned his attention to the kids, who were hiding behind Stan’s legs.

“And who might you two be?”

“I’m Mabel and that’s Dipper,” Mabel said, pulling Dipper with her while she moved over to Fiddleford, who crouched down so he was level with them. She stuck out her hand. “Greetings!”

“You’re definitely related to Stanford,” Fiddleford said, amusement softening his tone as he shook her hand, and then Dipper’s. He glanced up at Stan. “Yours, I assume?”

Stan nodded, and glanced at his watch. They really needed to get to the city, so, “Hey, do you want a ride somewhere? We gotta get going but I’d be happy to drop you off.”

“Oh. Uh…” He furrowed his brow. “I’m, uh… not really sure where I was goin’.”

“Your lab is on this street,” Ford pointed out. “Maybe you were on your way home?”

“That sounds plausible.”

-/-

They offered Fiddleford a ride home, and he was still feeling a little disoriented so he agreed. While they were walking to the car, Stan threw an arm around Fiddleford’s shoulder and dragged him into a companionly, one armed embrace.

“So, Fidds,” he said. “You went to college with my bro, huh?”

“Yeah. We were very good friends- back then,” he added, with a pointed glance at Ford, no doubt to make it clear that the short offer of aid in no way made up for what had happened. Ford resisted a surge of annoyance. Fiddleford had every right to be angry at him of course, Ford just didn’t like that he acted as though Ford had done it all on  _ purpose _ .

Stan held open the passenger door for Fiddleford- Ford got the hint and settled into the backseat with the children- and then went around to slide into the driver’s seat. “So, Fidds,” Stan said again. “Would you happen to have any embarrassing stories about Ford’s college days that you wouldn’t mind sharing with me?”

Fiddleford considered this, and, “Has he ever told you about the time he ran buck-naked across campus on a dare?”

Ford really wished that the ground would open up and swallow him, because Stan, who had been in the middle of shifting into drive, shifted back into park and turned to Fiddleford, ignoring their current goal in favor of staring intently at Fiddleford.

“You have the  _ entirety _ of my attention.”

-/-

Fortunately Fiddleford’s house wasn’t that far from his lab, and once Stan had been persuaded to actually resume driving, it didn’t take long to get him dropped off. Stan walked him to the door to make sure there would be someone there to look after, though his disorientation had largely vanished in the interim and he assured them he would be fine. Still, Stan insisted on making sure his wife was there to keep an eye on him before returning to their current errand.

All in all, the little sidebar had taken about forty-five minutes, so they still had plenty of time to get up into the city and sell the jewels and do some shopping.

“So that guy’s a friend a’ yours, huh?” Stan asked, once they were back on the road. Ford nodded.

“He was, anyway. We were close in college, so I asked him to be my assistant when I began creating the portal.”

In fact, Fiddleford had been one of only a handful of people to know about Ford’s estrangement from his brother when people even knowing he was a twin had made something in his soul crack and crumble under the pressure.

“Guess you would have made friends in college, huh,” Stan mumbled. Ford raised an eyebrow, and Stan let out a nervous laugh. “It’s nothin’, I mean, I’m not sayin’ I wanted you to not have friends. Just guess I kinda always assumed you were as alone as I was. It’s dumb.”

“I didn’t have many,” Ford admitted. “There was Fiddleford and a couple of others. But you must have had someone. Even if you weren’t up to your ears in friendship, surely there was  _ someone _ you cared about.” There must have been.

Stan let out another of those laughs. They had a self-deprecating tone to them that Ford decided he didn’t like. “I had loads of friends, but they all turned out to be using me or double-crossing me or tried to kill me or just plain hated me after awhile. Heh.” He sighed. “Mr. Charm and Personality and I couldn’t even do that right, when it came down to it.”

“You’re making friends now,” Ford pointed out. His intention had been to cheer Stan up, but all he got was another morose sigh and Stan refusing to look at him.

“Yeah… now…”

-/-

It took them a little while to find somewhere to sell the jewels, and Ford left Stan to do the haggling- he’d always been the better at haggling when he was working in the pawn shop, managing to drive down asking prices and drive up selling prices in a way that made the person on the other side of the counter feel like they were getting a great deal even as they handed over their valuables or their hard earned money for beans or junk. It was something Ford had never been able to work out, and Pa had rarely let him haggle any deals himself.

He held onto the children while Stan haggled, keeping a firm hold on both of their hands to keep them from wandering off or causing some kind of damage or making a mess, and after awhile Stan ambled back over to join them, stuffing a thick wad of bills into his wallet.

“So where to first?” Stan asked. “We need to get furniture for these two little gremlins, right?”

“Clothing store,” Ford said insistently. “We’re getting you some new clothes.”

“We can get clothes later,” Stan protested. “The kids are the priority here.”

“Judging by that wad of bills we have more than enough to get everything today, and if nothing else you need a jacket that fits before you split the seams on my second-best coat. We passed a menswear store right down the street; we can go get you some new clothes and then go worry about the rest.”

Stan sighed. “ _ Fine _ . We’ll go buy clothes. But you better not make any snarky comments about my choice in wardrobe.”

“I make no promises,” Ford said, following behind him. 

A teasing smile tugged at his lips; Stan just ‘hrumph’ed and leaned down to scoop up Mabel as usual. When she was halfway up, though, he stopped and stared down at Dipper.

“Uh…”

“Stan?”

Still frowning, Stan set Mabel back down. “So, I usually carry Mabel everywhere, but I’m not sure if I should now that Dipper is here.”

Ford nodded. That made sense. “Why do you carry her everywhere, anyway? She’s perfectly capable of walking.”

Stan shrugged, and took Mabel’s hand while Ford took Dipper’s, and the four headed down the street to the clothing store Ford had seen. With the kids walking between them, it was slow going; Ford could guess, now, why Stan had gotten into the habit of carrying Mabel all the time, especially if they had been living in a city before coming to Gravity Falls.

“I guess I got scared I’d lose her if I didn’t,” Stan finally said. “She’s so tiny. What if she ran off? I might never find her again. Or she could get hurt. Or someone else could hurt her. I don’t know what I’d do with myself if anything happened to her. So I just started carrying her. Guess I gotta kick the habit, huh? Can’t carry both of ‘em. Even if Dipper did want me touchin’ ‘im.”

“I don’t think anything is going to hurt them in Gravity Falls.”

Stan snorted. “I  _ have _ been reading those journals of yours, ya know. Don’t try that.”

“Well, fine, in the woods I suppose there’s danger, but in the town itself- in any case, there’s always the option of handholding, and you have two hands, and Dipper will come around.”

This assurance earned him a shrug, and Ford wanted to reach over and shake his brother in exasperation. What was going through that head of his? So far every attempt Ford had made to cheer him up today had fallen flat and made things worse, and he was getting frustrated and that was never going to help anyone.

He missed when they were little kids, and he could curl up in Stan’s side and hold his hand and Stan would eventually tell him what was wrong without any prompting. When Stan still trusted Ford with his feelings.

Oh.

_ Oh _ .

Of course. It was so obvious- why hadn’t it been obvious already? Ford was an idiot, that was why.

Stan was  _ tactile _ . He’d always been, whether it was outright cuddling or just casual touches or a hand on his shoulder- Stan was always touching, it was how he grounded himself. He’d told Ford once, one night that they’d spent on the Stan O’ War, Ford’s head on his shoulder while they watched the sky darken and the stars come out, that touching and being touched was how he made sure he was real.

Mabel was tactile too, possibly even moreso than his brother or maybe just less restrained about it, but regardless of the reason- Stan and Mabel spent a  _ lot _ of time touching. And Stan loved having that bond with her, loved to cuddle her and carry her and pet her hair and tickle her and pepper her cheeks with little scrunchy-faced kisses that left her giggling and kicking in glee-

-and Dipper, the son he hadn’t known about until last night, didn’t want Stan touching him at all.

And Ford had just dismissed his worries as though they were meaningless.

_ Great _ .

-/-

Ford went quiet after their conversation about carrying Mabel, but Stan decided not to ask. He was kind of lost in his own thoughts now, anyway. About Mabel, mostly, and habits and why he had them and why he was a screw up because of them.

Here was the thing: In New Mexico, even before Mabel had come to him, Stan had been in hot water with Rico, who really,  _ really _ wanted the money he was owed. (Stan disagreed about owing Rico any money at all, given everything he had done for Rico when they were in prison together and Rico never repaid him, but Rico was the one with the thugs for hire and the weapons cache so if he said Stan owed him money then fine, okay, sure, Stan owed him money. No problem.)

And Stan was working on getting the money Rico decided he was owed so he could just get on with his life, maybe go somewhere else, somewhere cold because he was sick of heat and sick of humidity and sick of the entire southwest, but he knew if he wasn’t careful about leaving Rico would just follow him so- well, for the time being he’d been stuck.

And then Mabel had come into his life, and all of his ideas about sticking around and playing it safe until he’d paid Rico back had gone out the window. Because now it wasn’t just Stan in danger, it was  _ Mabel _ . So Stan had packed up everything he could fit in the car and got the hell out of Dodge that night, and it had been a rough ride and he’d had to work pretty hard to lose Rico’s goons, who had followed him of course,  _ of course _ , but it had worked and he’d ended up in an entirely new city run by the Lozanos and Stan knew that Rico wasn’t on good terms with the Lozanos and he wouldn’t risk an all out war over Stan’s sorry hide, so Stan had figured he was safe to lay low for awhile.

And that’s where he’d been when Ford’s postcard had finally found him- how Ford had managed  _ that _ Stan had no idea, but he had, and he’d forgotten all about everything else because if Ford was in bad enough straits to contact Stan then it must be something  _ really _ bad, so fuck Rico and fuck the Lozanos and fuck being broke, Ford needed him so Stan had come running.

But here was the thing: in all that time, he’d had Mabel to take care of. And it turned out being a parent was  _ fucking terrifying _ , because any moment Rico could find him or the Lozanos could get word he was in the area and an associate of Rico’s or the law could catch up to him or, heaven forbid,  _ child services _ , who would certainly object to Mabel living in his car but he couldn’t lose her, it would destroy him, so he’d taken to carrying her because any moment one of the many people he was avoiding might find him and he needed to be ready to run, to carry his daughter to safety as quickly as possible.

But now he was in Gravity Falls, and there were scary things in Gravity Falls but none of them, and this was the important part,  _ none _ of them were out for his blood specifically.

Which meant he could stop carrying Mabel everywhere, despite his instincts.

Here was the thing: Stan had been alone for ten years. He’d had plenty of companionship in that time, but it was all fleeting and distant and he’d never been able to trust anyone and it had gotten to the point that he didn’t trust being touched, and then Mabel had come along and crawled into his lap like she was  _ made _ to sit there, and it was like the whole world had crashed down around him and he’d realized  _ just _ how touch-starved he actually was because for the first time in almost ten years he actually felt  _ grounded _ and  _ real _ , and now that he thought about it clearly-

-he’d been using his own fucking daughter like a security blanket.

God, he was  _ pathetic _ .

-/-

Getting Stan a new wardrobe wasn’t as bad as he’d thought it would be. For one thing, the store Ford had found was mostly dead at this time on a weekday, which meant that one of the salesmen came over to attend him personally, on the grounds that, “I literally have nothing better to be doing right now.”  With his help they were able to get Stan into clothes that both fit well and looked good on him in half the time it normally would have taken, and Stan had even enjoyed stepping out of the dressing room and showing off the different outfits, some of which he genuinely liked and some of which he only tried on because he knew Ford thought his taste in clothing was tacky and awful and he liked to horrify him (but Ford owned a Hawaiian shirt and pineapple sunglasses, so his opinion meant nothing).

Still, he had better things to do than play around with clothes all day, so once he had enough new clothes to satisfy Ford, they’d headed out.

It was only when they were halfway back to the car that Ford looked over at him and then did a doubletake before his expression flattened.

“Did you steal that coat?”

Stan looked down at himself, at the new coat he’d carefully put on over his borrowed one, and then shrugged. Ford let out a long, slow sigh.

“Stanley, we have money. You don’t have to steal things.”

“Eh, it’s fine.” 

They’d reached the car; he juggled the bags he was carrying to one hand so he could unlock the trunk and dump the bags of clothes into it as well. He took off the two coats he was wearing and shoved Ford’s loaner coat into one of the bags, then threw on the new one. It looked a lot like his old one, with the added bonus that it wasn’t torn and stained and patched and covered in dried unicorn blood.

“Where to now?” Ford asked, once they were back in the car.

“Toy store,” Stan said firmly. “I finally have money and two kids to spoil, I’m getting them a cartload of toys and no one is stopping me.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it,” Ford agreed, obviously amused by Stan’s insistence. “We also need to get Dipper some new clothes. We also need furniture, but given we live in a lumber town I think we might find something better closer to home. Is there anything else we need?”

“Eh, there’s stuff we need for the house, but let’s take care of these two first. I can make another trip later if I need more money, and most of what I need I can find in town anyway.”

-/-

The kids, once they realized they were in a toy store, almost looked near tears. Stan took them to a random aisle and told them to pick one thing each just to avoid overwhelming them, then leaned back against the wall and watched them run up and down, trying to decide what they wanted. He was watching Ford explain a Lite Brite to Mabel when he felt a tug on his pant leg.

He looked down to see Dipper there; the kid backed away as soon as he’d got Stan’s attention, but not much, which Stan supposed was a step in the right direction and crouched so he could talk to the kid face to face.

“So what’s up?” he asked carefully. “You need something?”

Dipper looked a little nervous, and said, quietly, “I gotta potty.”

“Oh, gotcha.” He glanced over at Ford and Mabel and caught Ford’s attention, signalling that he and Dipper were going before turning back to the kid. “Okay, I think it’s this way.”

They found the bathroom quickly, but by the time they got there Dipper’s movements had slowed, and his entire body language exuded embarrassment. Stan’s eyes flicked down and- ah, yes, there was a damp spot on the front of Dipper’s jeans.

“Didn’t make it, huh?”

“Sorry,” Dipper mumbled. Stan waved that away and gave him a reassuring smile.

“Nah, it’s fine. Accidents happen.”

“But I’m s’posed to be a big boy now,” he said. “Big boys use the potty right.”

“Eh, it’s a learning curve.” Stan waved his hand again. “If it makes you feel any better, your papa here was still wetting the bed when I was a little bit older than you.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, and I was so embarrassed! But when I was asleep I was  _ asleep _ , ya know? But I got there eventually. Ya just gotta work at it.” When Dipper looked at least a little bit mollied, Stan gestured to the backpack he was carrying. “Hey, I’ve got you some spare clothes in here, let’s go get you cleaned up so you can change, huh?”

A pause, and Dipper nodded, leading the rest of the way to the bathroom.

Stan was glad he’d thought to bring changes of clothes for the kids- Mabel hardly ever had accidents anymore, but she  _ was _ messy and they did still happen anyway, so he’d got into the habit. He took out a plastic bag and a fresh pair of jeans and undies, and let Dipper go into the stall alone to change. After he emerged, dry and looking like he felt better, the bag with the damp clothes was tucked down into the bottom of the pack, and it was time to rejoin Ford and Mabel and finish picking out their toys.

A few steps from the bathroom, Stan was surprised when a small hand slipped into his. He looked down just to make sure and, yes, that was Dipper’s hand, tucked away in his own like it belonged there.

If he was smiling too hard when they rejoined the others, Ford didn’t say anything about it.

-/-

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's some more draws I've done for this fic! They don't correspond with any specific scene, I just wanted to draw.
> 
> [Stan and Mabel sleeping](http://grifalinas.tumblr.com/post/171406047324/i-finally-drew-mullet-stan-in-all-his-mullety). (You can tell this one doesn't correspond because Stan has yet to sleep on-screen.)
> 
> [Stargazing Pineses](http://grifalinas.tumblr.com/post/172093197959/man-i-didnt-think-id-ever-finish-this-draw). (This one probably actually takes place at some point in chapter six or later, but whatever.)


	6. The One That's Mostly About Dipper

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Parenthood had changed Stan's perspective on a lot of things, things like how easy it was to worry about another person when you couldn't help them and what it took to give up on someone you never, ever should.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As we're moving into timeskip territory, I feel it important to point out that the boys have yet to have any important discussions about their feelings offscreen. Since their reconciliation is such a huge driving point of the plot, I don't want you guys thinking they're going about it when we're not looking.

-/-

It was two days later that Dipper allowed Stan to do more than just hold his hand. It was when Dan came over to measure for the furniture they were commissioning, and Dipper had clung to Stan’s leg while the enormous lumberjack moved around the house.

The next day they’d gone out to Greasy’s to eat dinner, and Dipper had let Stan help him into the car. After that things came in waves: it was casual touches, a pull on Stan’s pant leg when he needed something, letting Stan rest an arm around him during storytime. A week after he’d arrived, once Stan had put them to bed, he watched Stan kiss Mabel goodnight and then shyly asked for kisses of his own, which Stan delivered with as much casual affection as he could and tried not to let on how happy he was.

He left the kids falling asleep and moved over to the desk, where Ford was writing in his journal like he did every night. He grabbed the spare desk chair and dragged it over, then reached into one of the many hidden pockets he’d added to his jacket and took out a bit of cardboard that had a needle tucked into it and was wound with a length of red thread; another added pocket produced his glasses, which were in surprisingly good shape given they were the same pair he’d had when he’d left home a decade ago.

The story he’d told the kids that night had featured the monster and princess finally reuniting with the monster’s best friend (and the princess’s long lost twin brother, who was traveling with the new monster in search of his sister) and when the two monsters had apologized and ‘hugged it out’, Mabel had squealed and squeezed her pig so hard that it had finally followed through and burst the seams on its neck.

Mabel had been distraught at the sight of the stuffing piling out of her most favorite toy in the world, and it had taken Stan forever to calm her down enough to reassure her that the damage was minor, and that he could fix it for her. Now he leaned back and propped his feet up on the desk and got to work on the repairs.

This was actually really nice, Stan thought. His kids asleep in the room while he and his brother sat in comfortable silence, both doing their own respective work. He could get used to this. It was going to really hurt when that other shoe dropped.

Eventually, Ford stopped writing and turned his attention to Stan, tapping his pen thoughtfully while he watched his brother. Stan was aware of the scrutiny, and resolutely didn’t look up from his careful stitches to question it, though his ears were burning at the attention. Finally he huffed irritably.

“Got something to say, Poindexter?”

“Have you ever considered writing down the bedtime stories you’ve been telling?”

That was nowhere near what Stan had expected. He looked up, thoroughly left-fielded. “What?”

“The bedtime stories. You should think about writing them down and maybe publishing them.”

“I’m gonna repeat myself.”

Ford laughed. “I’m not sure what part is stumping you.”

“The whole thing?” Stan had finished the stitches; he tied them off and returned needle, thread, and glasses to his coat. “They’re just dumb stories I make up to get the kids to sleep cause I don’t have any real stories to read them.”

“Quite the contrary,” Ford said. “I’ve been listening, and while you are prone to plotholes, the stories themselves are charming, consistent, and enjoyable. Mabel and Dipper certainly seem to love them.”

“They’re three, Ford, and they like it when I do spooky fingers and silly voices.”

“Well obviously they’d be best published as children’s books, targeted at the same demographic. I don’t understand, why are you so resistant to this idea? You love making up stories.”

“Well, yeah. But it’s not the same.”

Stan needed a distraction; he got up and moved over to the couch, nudging Mabel awake enough to tuck the pig back into her arms. She climbed to her feet, wobbling on the couch-cushions, and threw her arms around Stan’s neck as soon as she’d realized what he’d done.

“Thank you, Papa!” she squeaked, at least enough sense to keep her excitement to a hush while her brother was sleeping just there. “You’re the best ever in the whole world there ever was!”

Aw, geez. Stan’s ears burned, and he tucked Mabel back in, settling the pig in her arms and petting her hair gently until she’d fallen back asleep. He headed back over to the desk, hoping Ford would drop the subject, but as soon as he’d sat back down Ford started again.

“So what’s the problem? Writing is more work than making things up on the fly, but it’s the same basic concept, and you always did very well in creative writing.”

“They’re just dumb stories,” Stan repeated. “I don’t even know where I’m goin’ with ‘em half the time, I just figure it out from what Mabel prompts me.”

“I must say, they turn out quite well for something made up on the fly.”

Stan made a frustrated half-growl, half-grunt and buried his fingers in his hair. “Could you- could you just stop that? I’m not- I don’t- I just-” He huffed. “It’s not gonna happen.”

Ford raised his eyebrows, then lowered them, concern radiating from him. “Stan, if you don’t want to, that’s up to you. It was just a suggestion.”

“Yeah, well.” Stan shrugged. “Like you said, they’ve got all those plotholes in ‘em. Who wants to sort those out? As long as the kids like ‘em, I’m fine with ‘em how they are.”

“All right.” Ford sighed, apparently willing to drop the idea, then pushed his journal over to Stan. “I did want to show you this, either way.”

Stan picked up the journal and then grinned. Ford had been doodling during the stories again; along with a lot of very simple doodles of the now-four characters, there was a very detailed drawing at the bottom, of two nearly-identical monsters and two royal twin toddlers (you could tell they were royal because they were wearing crowns). Stan snickered.

“Can’t believe you keep drawing my dumb stories in your spooky book.”

“I  _ like _ your ‘dumb stories’,” Ford insisted. “And I’m very interested in where this new character will lead them- though I have to wonder why in the world you decided he had a portable portal generator.”

“Eh, I thought the kids’d have fun with the characters exploring lots of different worlds. And I was getting tired of the one they live in. It’s kind of a drag.”

“Ah, I see. That sounds like an interesting story-telling device, actually. Hopefully less dangerous than the  _ actual _ portal, though I doubt you’d make up a story about a rift in the fabric of reality bringing about the end of the world as a direct result of your characters’ actions to entertain your three-year-old children.”

“Hey, I  _ might _ ,” Stan protested. “If I thought they’d like a story like that. It’d have a happy ending, of course. Ya gotta have a happy ending.”

“So no permanent damage?”

“Nah, once they stop the apocalypse the magic puts everything back like how it was, and maybe the monster got hurt or somethin’ but the princess loves him so much he gets better. Ya gotta end a story like that with the power of love.”

Ford smiled fondly at that, and leaned back in his chair. “Would that the world were that simple, and it were possible to end one’s suffering by merely loving them enough.”

“Heh, yeah. But they’re three. They don’t need to know how rotten everything is yet. Just let ‘em have this, for a little while, at least.”

“Of course.” They lapsed into silence again, until Ford broke it with, “So how do they stop the apocalypse?”

“Oh, I dunno.” Stan waved his hands around vaguely. “They, I dunno, trick the bad guy into deleting himself from existence or something.”

“That sounds plausible.”

-/-

The phone rang. Stan grabbed it and leaned onto the yellow easy chair they’d bought when they decided the tv room needed actual furniture. He hoped it wasn’t the grant people; Ford had been trying to reach them for three weeks to discuss his renewal, but he was out in the woods right now and Stan had no idea when he’d be back.

“Pines residence.”

“ _ Stanley _ ?”

Stan dropped the phone like he’d been burned, then swore and dove for it. She didn’t seem to notice she’d been dropped, given how when he put it back to his ear she was babbling and- by the sounds of it- crying.

“Stanley! My boy! My baby, you’re okay! You’re alive and you’re safe and- and- and you’re with Stanford? Oh, my boys, my poor boys, are you finally speaking again?”

Stan let out a sheepish laugh. “Yeah, Ma, that’s right. Ford was having a little trouble with something so he asked me to come up and help him and we- well, I’m here now. I think we’re working on things.”

"I'm so glad you're safe now." She let out a sob on the other end, and Stan looked over at his kids and he thought maybe he could finally,  _ finally _ understand how worried she’d been all those past years, nothing to go off of but his own cryptically worrying remarks about how he was doing. His heart clenched painfully. He hated that he was the reason his mother was crying so hard. Had probably cried just as hard in private.

Speaking of the kids… “Hey Ma, there’s something else,” he said, a mischievous tone to his voice. He beckoned the kids over and pressed a finger to his lips. Mabel abandoned her game happily, Dipper following behind, brow furrowing from curiosity. Stan knelt beside Mabel and leaned close; he covered the mouthpiece of the phone and whispered instructions to her, then made sure to hold the phone so he could hear his mother’s reaction.

Mabel took a deep breath, and, “HI GRANDMA I’M MABEL.”

Stan beamed. How was that for making up for making her cry? On the other end there was silence, and then a sharp intake of breath, a soft sob, and his mother finally spoke. “G-grandma?”

“Yeah, Ma.”

“You have a daughter?”

“Even better than that,” he said, looping an arm around Mabel and giving her an approving squeeze. “I got twins, Ma! Boy and a girl. I can let you talk to Dipper, too, if you want, but he don’t say much until ya get to know ‘im so you’ll have to do mosta the talking.”

“How old are they?” She sounded so pleased. Stan wished he’d called and told her about Mabel as soon as he’d got her.

“Three and a half,” he said. “I uh, I only recently got custody of them.” There, that was a way to put it that gave absolutely zero context. “My ex-wife didn’t tell me about them when they were born.”

And he hated Marilyn for that and everything she’d done, but at least he could honestly call her his ex-wife. He didn’t have to tell his mother the part where he’d been scammed into a six-hour marriage. At least his kids were legitimate, technically. At least there wasn’t  _ that _ disappointment coloring things. And he could blame her for why his mother hadn’t known she was a grandmother last time he spoke to her.

“But you’ve got them now? What did you say were their names? Mabel and Dipper?”

“Yeah, that’s them. Well, Mabel and Mason, but apparently they’d nicknamed ‘im Dipper so…”

“That’s such a cute name! Tell me about them- what are they like? Oh, Stanley, I’m so proud of you.”

He spent a little time telling her about the kids, glossing over the delay between getting Mabel and getting Dipper. It felt good being able to tell his mother something positive about his life for a change, and it was only when the door opened and Stanford came in, soaking wet and pulling twigs from his hair, did he realize that she must have called to talk to her other son.

“Hey, Ford just walked in,” he said, interrupting whatever she’d been saying. “You wanna talk to him?”

Ford raised an eyebrow, and Stan mouthed, ‘It’s Ma,’ before handing the phone over.

“Ma?”

Stan kept one ear on the conversation while he went to get some dry clothes and a towel from the laundry basket, listening to Ford awkwardly explain why he hadn’t called in months and why the last time he’d been acting so… odd.

“I’m sorry to have worried you,” he finally said. “I was dealing with a lot of stress and I think it was getting to me more than I realized.” A pause, and he rolled his eyes. “Yes, Ma, I’m aware that Stan has kids. They’re living with me, it would be odd if I hadn’t noticed. Yes, they’re very cute. No, they look like Shermie, actually. But they’ve got Stan’s eyes.”

Stan passed the clothes and towel over and took the phone so Ford could go change.

“Hey Ma, I’m back. Ford has to go change his clothes because I’m not nursing him back to health if he leaves the wet ones on and catches a cold,” this last part directed at Ford, who had remained where he was and was staring at Stan. He got the hint and hurried off, and Stan turned back to the phone. “So what’s up with things at home?” he asked. “How’s old Glass Shard Beach?”

“Dull as ever,” Ma said. “That’s why I called, actually. Your father is selling the pawn shop.”

“What?” Stan nearly dropped the phone again in shock. Pine’s Pawns loomed over his childhood like some kind of shadowy creature, but it was also a fixed point in his mindscape, the sort of place he couldn’t imagine not being there with his parents in it.

Ma chuckled on the other end. “We talked about it,” she said. “With so much of the family living on the west coast- even more than we realized, apparently- we decided we wanted to be closer to our children and grandchildren. So your father is going to sell the shop and we’re moving to Piedmont, to be near Shermie and the kids.”

Stan was still stunned. It was hard to imagine- but Piedmont was less than a day away, he could see his mother so easily, just drive down… he hadn’t seen her in so long…

Ford returned, now changed and dried, and raised an eyebrow at Stan’s expression.

“Dad is selling the pawn shop,” Stan said, passing the phone over to his brother for Ma to explain. “I’m gonna go start dinner. Call me before you hang up, okay?”

-/-

They didn’t bring up the phone call until after dinner, when it was time to get the kids bathed and ready for bed. Stan was running a bath for them, while Ford sat on the toilet seat keeping them entertained in the meantime.

“I wonder if Ma told Pa about you and the kids yet,” Ford said, pretending he wasn’t watching Stan carefully for his reaction. Stan just grunted an acknowledgement, so Ford continued. “I mean, it’d be strange if she didn’t tell him. Unless you asked her not to?”

“Didn’t think to.”

“I wonder if he’ll be pleased.” He was still pretending not to watch his brother, but Stan ignored that.

“I don’t really care,” he said. He reached over and turned the water off, and beckoned the kids over.

“Really? But...” Ford trailed off, not sure how to end that sentence.

Stan was silent for a long time, ignoring his brother while he helped his kids undress and step into the bubbly, lukewarm water. It was only after he’d located the cup and got their hair nice and wet that he spoke again.

“I used to care,” he admitted. “Even after he threw me out, I used to think, if I could only be good enough, he’d let me come home, and he’d love me again, and everything would be okay. That everything’d be okay if I could prove he was wrong about me, and I wasn’t as worthless as he thought.”

He snorted derisively at that, falling silent again while he washed Mabel’s hair. For awhile, only the sound of the kids splashing in the water filled the little bathroom.

“You know, ever since I found out I was a dad, I been asking myself, what would it take? What would my child have to do to make me turn my back on them, throw them out, wash my hands of them? Where’s the line they’d have to cross for me to make that call?”

He’d done washing Mabel’s hair; he scrunched up his face and gave her a little forehead kiss before turning to do Dipper’s, murmuring softly to the boy while he did. Dipper had gotten past his reluctance at being handled, but Stan was still careful not to spook him.

“So what did you decide?” Ford eventually asked.

Stan sighed. “I realized there  _ is _ no line. There’s nothing either one of these little gremlins could do to make me give up on ‘em. They could come home telling me they’d killed thirteen people in a ritual to revive an eldritch demon from the depths of the sea and hadn’t even managed to succeed and I’d help ‘em figure out how to hide the bodies. They’re my  _ kids _ , Stanford. I was his  _ son _ . And I was seventeen. It didn’t  _ matter _ that he was right about me, it didn’t matter that I was a lost cause, it didn’t matter how worthless I was. I was still his son. That should have been the thing that mattered most.” He looked down at Dipper, who had one tiny hand resting on his wrist while he bathed him. His expression softened. “I keep trying to picture myself in his place, throwing one of these two out, and I just... can’t. So. I don’t really care whether he knows about what I’m up to now, or what he thinks of it. His opinion on me stopped mattering the minute my ass hit that sidewalk.”

“I see.” Ford fidgeted with his fingers. “Did you ever feel that way about me?” he asked, hesitantly.

Stan laughed. “I tried,” he admitted. “But you had every right to be mad at me. Dad shoulda let us work that out between us, stead of treating one of us like a meal ticket and one of us like an investment that didn’t pan out.”

Ford was still fidgeting with his fingers, which suggested there was something else he had on his mind, and finally, “...he wasn’t right about you.”

“Heh?”

“You said, ‘it didn’t matter that he was right about me’. He wasn’t right about you.”

“Meh.”

“No, I mean it. I know you say you don’t care about his opinion but I think you’ve internalized too much of it. So since you clearly care more about my opinion than his, I’m telling you that he was wrong. You’re worth so much more than you realize. ...I wish I’d remembered that that night.”

“Yeah, well.” 

Stan turned back to his kids, rinsing the last of the suds from them before pulling the plug and grabbing a couple of big, fluffy towels to wrap them in. Ford joined him for this part, tucking the towel carefully around Dipper before scooping him up. Stan’s technique with Mabel was a bit more playful; by the time he was carrying her to the living room, where a cheery fire was burning on the hearth, she was completely cocooned and still dripping water everywhere.

“Mabel doesn’t think you’re worthless,” Ford pointed out. “She looks at you like you put the stars out every night just for her.”

“Tch.”

“Dipper doesn’t think you’re worthless,” Ford continued, ignoring him. “He went from fright to adoration in a mere three weeks, I doubt anyone else would.”

“You’re really not letting this go, are ya?”

“ _ I _ don’t think you’re worthless,” Ford added firmly. “And I’m  _ not _ letting it go. I’ll say it as often as I need to until you start to believe it.”

-/-

Ford came in from his daily excursion into the forest to find Stan at the table with a teenage girl, both drinking cocoa and looking to be in the middle of an intense business negotiation. She was wearing a Flower Scout uniform, and there were several cookie boxes spread out on the table, as well as a large carton of them on the floor near her. Well, that explained the wagon he’d seen parked near the door when he got home. Ford went over and helped himself to the cocoa, listening to their conversation as he did.

“Look kid, I’m just saying, I’ve never tried any of these cookies before. How do I know whether to spend my money on them if you won’t give me a sample box?”

“And all  _ I’m _ saying is that you shouldn’t need a whole  _ box _ to know whether you like them. I can offer you  _ a _ sample  _ cookie _ , but I can’t give you a whole  _ box _ .”

Stan drummed his fingers on the table, staring the girl down while she stared just as hard back. After a moment he took a few bills out of his pocket.

“Okay, tell ya what. You shovel the leftover snow outta our driveway, and I’ll buy a few boxes of your cookies. That sound fair?”

“No way! If I do work, I’m getting paid for it, not the Flower Scouts indirectly. Besides, your driveway is like a mile long, that would take forever to shovel.”

“It is?” Stan glanced over at Ford, who nodded to confirm before decided to take that as his cue to join the conversation.

“Greetings,” he said. “I don’t believe we’ve been introduced.”

“I’m Fina Ramirez,” the girl said. “And I know you, you’re Dr. Pines, the mad scientist who lives in the woods.”

“I am  _ not _ a-” Ford broke off with a sigh. “Never mind. Do you mind if  _ I _ buy a box of cookies from you? I know my brother, I suspect you and he are going to be at these negotiations for awhile. He likes to spare every expense.”

A quick exchange, and Ford took his box of Starblasters off to the table in the tv room (which still lacked a tv) to get his data recorded for the day. The twins were already in there, playing beside the easy chair where they could easily be seen from Stan’s spot in the kitchen. When Ford sat down, Mabel climbed up onto the seat beside him, snuggling into his side with her pig clutched between her arms.

“Hi Uncle Ford,” she said. “Watcha got?”

“Starblasters,” he explained, holding up the box in question. He took two out, giving Mabel one and Dipper the other, accompanied by a wink. “Don’t tell your papa.”

Mabel nodded enthusiastically, then settled into his side to nibble her cookie while she watched him write; on his other side, Dipper was already climbing up to mirror the position.

Ford wasn’t sure how long he stayed there, writing down his experience with the Ice Screamer he’d met earlier, his niece and nephew pressed against his side and listening to him talk about it while he wrote, before there was a knock on the door. He glanced back into the kitchen to see Stan still in the middle of his negotiations, so he got up to answer it himself.

The woman at the door was clearly the girl’s guardian; quite apart from the garden mother sash she was wearing over her clothes, there was also a strong resemblance.

“Pardon me, but is there a young lady here trying to sell cookies?” she asked.

Ford nodded. “Come in. I think my brother is probably going to actually buy some soon.”

He led her into the kitchen, where Fina looked pleased to see the woman. “Mama!”

“Ah, there you are, mi precioso. I thought I might find you here.”

“I wanted to see if Mr. or Dr. Pines wanted to buy some cookies,” she explained. “Dr. Pines bought a box, and Mr. Pines was about to buy a whole  _ case _ !”

“Nice try, kid,” Stan said, giving her a stern look before counting out a couple bills. “I was about to buy  _ one _ box of your Peanutter Butter Yip-Yaps.  _ One _ .”

“Aw, man.” Fina looked disappointed. “That means I missed my quota for the day.” She pouted. “I should have left this house till last, but I didn’t think it’d take this long.”

She began gathering up her things, still pouting, while Stan squinted at her. Suddenly he let out a bark of laughter.

“All right, kid, tell you what. You’ve got the makings of a really good con in you, so I’ll pretend to take your bait and buy another box.” He paid for the second box, still chuckling, then walked them to the door; Mabel and Dipper hurried over to join them, clinging to Stan’s legs in the presence of the additional stranger. “And don’t forget you promised the twins you’d take them out in your wagon sometime you’re not working. If you’re not back by the end of this week I’m going to find out where you live and come to your house and stare at you like this-” He gestured to his face, which was looking disappointed, “-every time you come to the front door.”

Fina giggled, and nodded. “Okay, Mr. Pines. I’ll come back day after tomorrow.” She leaned on her knees, and highfived Mabel and Dipper. “Bye bye, guys! I’ll see you again soon, okay?”

“Bye, Fina!” they more-or-less chorused.

Once Fina and her mother were gone, Stan took the twins’ hands and led them to the kitchen. “So assuming your uncle didn’t ruin your dinner with those cookies, what say we get some food on cooking?” He glanced up at Ford, who was completely failing to look apologetic, and added cheerily, “That kid just played me like a cheap kazoo.”

-/-

Ford was writing in his journal, entirely engrossed in his work, which was why it took him a second or two to notice the tiny hand playing with his free one. He startled slightly out of his thoughts and looked down to see Dipper kneeling on a chair, Ford’s hand clutched between his own pair.

“Do you need something?” he asked, but Dipper just shook his head, so Ford let him get on with it. The kid was three, he reminded himself. He probably couldn’t count yet.

They were going to notice eventually.

‘Eventually’ turned out to be ‘now’, or at least a minute two from now. Ford tried to get back to his work, half his attention on Dipper’s hands playing with his, but his heartbeat was loud in his ear and then the moment he was worried about came: Dipper held Ford’s hand up, frowning and squinting and tilting his head back and forth, like he could tell  _ something _ was wrong but he couldn’t work out what.

Part of Ford was very pleased by his careful observation, actions that suggested he’d be a good scientist one day, but the rest of him was waiting for-

“We don’t match.”

-that.

Dipper’s frown was more concentrated now, tiny tongue poking out of his lips, and he held Ford’s hand up, straightening out each finger carefully. Ford cooperated, resisting the urge to pull away and hide his hands from scrutiny, and held his hand where Dipper had left it when it was released. Dipper pressed his own hand against Ford’s, stretching his fingers out and touching each one in turn. He did that three times before satisfied that his initial observation had been correct, and then looked up at Ford for an explanation.

“Ah- well...” He gave a helpless little shrug. “It’s called polydactyly,” he said. “It means I have an extra finger on each hand, that’s all.”

Dipper nodded, accepting the explanation, then turned his scrutiny back to Ford’s hand. There was another moment of this, and then he shifted his tiny hands to tuck his own four tiny fingers into the spaces between Ford’s, and beamed.

“It fits!” he said, obviously pleased with himself.

Ford heard a gravelly chuckle off to one side, and remembered that Stan was in the room too. He looked over and caught the grin his brother was giving him, and turned back to his nephew, folding his fingers over Dipper’s reassuringly.

“A perfect fit,” he murmured.

The kid really was his father’s son.

-/-

Dan finished the furniture they had commissioned in short time, and even offered to help them get the room arranged properly. The children’s bunk beds were shoved into one corner, Stan’s bed in the opposite corner, and the couch was moved into the tv-less room where it’d get more use now that it wasn’t serving as a bed.

Ford slept in his own room that night, for the first time since that first night, when Stan had pushed him to the couch and pretty much ordered him to get some sleep. He’d finally reached the point of sleeping through the night, more or less, at least: he still slept uneasily, and often his sleep would be restless enough that Stan would take his hand and murmur assurances at him until he’d settled. Often he’d wake, whether for a short while before drifting off, or long enough that he’d get up and burn off his restless energy by working in his journal. But even then, he always ended up asleep again. Stan made sure of it; Ford never stayed up for long before Stan was chasing him back to bed.

It was weird, being in the room without Ford, with the kids tucked into the bottom bunk together (supposedly the top bunk was Mabel’s, but to the surprise of no one she preferred to sleep cuddled up against her brother). Stan lay in his new bed and stared at the ceiling, trying to process the fact that he was now in possession of an  _ actual real bed _ , one that was not only acquired for him but had been  _ built _ for him. 

The mattress was new, too. There were no broken springs, no bare patches where the cushion was peeking through, no mysterious stains he’d pay not to know the origins of. And the sheets! Ford had bullied him into buying a new set of sheets and he had to admit, he wasn’t objecting. What could a man complain of, sleeping in a new bed with new sheets on a new mattress? Nothing, that was what.

Trouble was, it’d been at least a decade since he’d slept in a bed that didn’t feel like a penance.

So it was unsurprising that he couldn’t get comfortable.

Eventually, he gave up, and rolled out of bed and padded over to the desk. His tattered notebook was sitting inside it; he took it out and flipped to a new page, tapped his finger thoughtfully on the desk for a moment, then reached for a pencil. There was a thought niggling at the back of his mind, and he wanted to see if he could get it organized properly.

-/-

He’d been at it awhile when he became aware of a presence at his side. He looked down to see Dipper hovering behind his elbow, and set his pencil down so he could half-turn to address the boy.

“Hey, kiddo. What’s up?”

“Couldn’t sleep,” Dipper mumbled, rubbing sleepily at one eye. “What are you doing?”

“Working on an idea I got,” Stan said. He leaned his arms down in invitation, and when Dipper stepped into his grasp, he lifted him up to sit on his lap. “I’ll show ya if you promise not to tell anyone.”

“Pr-promise,” Dipper said around a yawn. He leaned back into Stan’s chest while Stan held up the notebook, showing him the plans he’d been drawing up. Some of them were quite serious, carefully outlined and arranged, while others were very silly, doodles and sketches that were obviously meant to be a punchline to their own joke and made Dipper giggle when they were explained.

Once he’d finished showing Dipper everything, he got back to drawing up more plans. Dipper stayed on his lap; Stan used one hand to hold him steady and Dipper rested his own hand over it, and watched the pencil scratching across the page until his head finally fell forward and Stan knew he’d fallen asleep.

“All right, back to bed for you,” Stan murmured, standing and lifting his son carefully. 

Mabel barely stirred when Stan tucked Dipper in beside her, but the movement stirred Dipper somewhat. His eyes opened, barely, and he blinked blearily up at Stan before realizing what had happened and letting his eyes shut again. He yawned and snuggled into his sister’s side.

“Night, Papa,” he mumbled, and was gone again.

“Night kiddo,” Stan whispered back, and moved to return to his own bed. He was already sliding under the covers when the words hit him and he froze, hand coming up to cover his mouth in surprise.

Dipper had never called him Papa before.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Stan's not crying, he's just having an allergic reaction to his emotions. You can prove nothing.


	7. The One That's a Timeskip

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It wasn't that Stan didn't appreciate everything Ford was doing for him- he did. He was just painfully, constantly aware that everything he'd accomplished since arriving in Gravity Falls was due to his brother's help, and maybe it just proved that they were better as a team but mostly he just felt like it proved right everything everyone had always said about him all his life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is more disjointed than previous chapters; it covers the month and a half between the end of the Dipper arc and the next arc, but I didn't want to just gloss over that time so this chapter is a combination of scenes setting up the next arc, and some other character interaction based ideas that I never really thought of anything to do with.
> 
> Question: Nothing is ever going to come of Stan's flirtation with Susan, but he does it frequently enough that I'm wondering if it constitutes a tag of some kind.

-/-

Spring was coming, and the unseasonable cold was finally letting up to make room for the warm weather that was coming to take its place. Ford was spending more and more time out in the woods, visiting the variety of paranormal creatures that inhabited the woods to study them as they woke from their hibernation, and to seek out new discoveries as well. In the evening he sat at the table after dinner, writing in his journal while Stan played with the kids or wrote out budgets and grocery lists and other things in his tattered spiral notebook.

Ford had gotten a new journal. Journal three wasn’t full yet, there was a whole handful of blank pages at the end, but Ford had made a new one anyway, a black four on this one. A fresh start, he’d said. Something untouched by the mistakes of the past. Besides, he needed room to add more information about the things in three as he discovered it.

While Ford was out in the woods or down in the lab, Stan went about his own life. He and the kids went out to explore the woods in their own way, sometimes alone and sometimes accompanied by Dan or Tyler and sometimes Mrs. Cutebiker, who knew the woods quite well and were happy to join them.

Other times they went into town, where more often than not they found themselves accompanied by Fina, who had decided she quite liked the Pines family, or Susan, who always seemed happy to help Stan wrangle the twins while he was running errands. Those particular trips always ended up at the diner with free pie, which Stan counted as a win. Free pie was not to be sneezed at, especially when it was accompanied by a wink from a classy gal like Susie.

-/-

Stan was glad he’d met Fina. Aside from her cheeky, devil-may-care attitude, she was actually a very friendly girl, and besides, he liked the cheeky, devil-may-care attitude. Not to mention that her attempt at conning him had amused him enough that when she came over a few days later to play with the kids, he didn’t mind in the least, and soon she’d become a fixture, coming over any time her own house got too crowded. Stan allowed this in part because he couldn’t stand to refuse the twins anything, and in part because it was nice to have someone else to occupy them while he got work done.

And the twins  _ adored _ Fina. Not just because she let them ride in her wagon, but also because she had answers for everything, some of which were probably even correct.

There was one thing bothering Mabel, though, and that was that it had so far only been Fina who ever played with them. Finally she couldn’t stand the confusion anymore.

“Where’s your Dipper?” she asked.

Fina raised an eyebrow at her. “My Dipper? What do you mean?”

“You know.” Mabel grabbed her brother around his neck and pulled him to her. “Your  _ Dipper _ . I’ve got Dipper, and Papa has Uncle Ford, and my grunkles had each other. Where’s yours? Did you lose each other? That happens sometimes.”

“My...” Fina’s lips moved quietly while she tried to make sense of that, and then understanding dawned. “Oh, you mean a twin! Right?”

“Yeah!”

“I don’t have one. It’s just me.”

“You don’t?” Mabel looked horrified. “But then who do you cuddle when you’re scared? And share cookies with? Who’s always there to make you smile when you feel sad?”

“I have other people to do all that stuff with.”

“But...” Mabel pouted, then pushed Fina down onto the porch step and climbed up into her lap. “Aren’t you lonely?”

“Maybe.” Fina tilted her head to one side, considering, and, “Not everyone has a twin. In fact most people don’t. It’s a really special thing.” She laughed. “It runs in families, though, that’s why you and your papa and your... you said grunkle?”

“Yeah!”

“Yeah, that’s why you all have twins, so it must seem like everyone has one.”

Mabel thought about this, then nodded. “Once me and Dipper weren’t together so for a long time I didn’t have ‘im, and I was as sad as I had ever been an’ it felt like forever and ever, and then he came back. And Papa didn’t have Uncle Ford for even more forever, and he was real sad too. And when my grunkle lost my other grunkle, he was the saddest he could possibly be. So I think it must be real sad to not have a twin.”

“I’ve never been sad to be a singlet,” Fina said. “You can’t really miss something you’ve never had. Are you sad not to be a triplet?”

“What’s a triplet?”

“It’s like twins but there’s three of you.”

Mabel gasped, and she and Dipper shared incredulous looks. “You can have  _ three _ twins?”

Fina laughed. “Yeah! So what about it? You sad there’s not three of you?”

The pair looked at each other, thinking about this. After a few minutes, Mabel shook her head and hugged her brother to her, crushing Fina’s leg where she was still sitting. “Nope! I love my Dipper and I love to share with him but I wouldn’t want to share with two Dippers. One Dipper is enough.”

“I don’t want another Mabel, either,” Dipper said. “I just wanna only be a twin.”

“Well there you go. You’re not sad not to be a triplet and I’m not sad not to be a twin.”

-/-

Stan had dragged Ford out grocery shopping with him, partly because he needed to stop being such a hermit and partly to help carry things. Ford was examining oranges while Stan sought ways to entertain the twins, who were cranky today- Dipper was whining petulantly about everything he was asked to do, while Mabel banged on things and made noise whenever she felt insufficient attention was being paid to her. It was getting exhausting, and Stan had a headache forming, which was not going to help things. He’d never lost his temper on the twins, and had no intention of starting now, but it was hard to remember why when his temples were throbbing.

Someone had to be the adult here. And Ford was too engrossed in his oranges.

“Were we ever this awful?” Stan asked.

“Depends on which parent you ask,” Ford said, finally making his selection and setting the oranges in the cart. When he saw Stan’s sour look, he added, “According to Shermie we were a couple of terrors.”

“He was six years older than us, though,” Stan said. “I think he’s probably biased. Especially since we kept stealing and/or breaking his toys.”

“I never broke his toys,” Ford protested. “I might have taken them apart and then not known how to put them back together, but I didn’t  _ break _ them.”

“Yeah, because that’s a distinction a nine-year-old cares about.” Mabel had got hold of a can of tuna and started banging it on the handle of the cart; Stan took it from her and tossed it back in the basket, then took her hands in both of his, taking a deep breath and counting to ten before he spoke. “Mabel, honey, you’re giving Papa a headache with this noise. I really need you to calm down.”

“I’m  _ bored _ ,” Mabel protested. “I wanna do something fun!”

“I know you’re bored, but we have to get groceries. Sometimes you have to do boring things. You just gotta learn to suck it up and get through it.” When she still looked defiant, he sighed. Okay, since reason wasn’t working, time for bribes. “If you behave, I’ll take you to the park after we get the groceries home. Then you can play all you want to and you won’t be bored anymore. But you have to behave. That goes for both of you,” he added at Dipper, who was in the middle of trying to climb out of the back of the cart. Dipper froze with one leg thrown over the edge. “You wanna go to the park?”

“Yeah!” they both cheered.

“Well then you have to behave.”

“Booo!”

“Fine, no park then,” he said, or may have snapped. “We’ll just go home and sit quietly in the not-a-tv room.”

If he’d thought that would work, he was wrong: it had the opposite affect, and started the kids wailing in distress. He leaned his arms and then his head on the handle of the cart and groaned.

“Ford, a little help here?” He looked up. Ford had Dipper held over the basket of the cart, trying to return him to his previous position while Dipper kicked and shouted “No!” on repeat. Ford looked like he was faring no better than Stan was.

Finally Stan gave up. He tossed his arms in the air. “Okay, fine! We’re going to the park. You two need to burn off this excess energy somehow.”

“Yaaaay!”

-/-

Once they’d got the kids to the playground, Stan let them loose and moved over to sink heavily onto a swing. Ford took the swing beside him, pushing his feet into the dirt so he could rock back and forth idly. He seemed as tired as Stan felt. Stan reached into his jacket and took out a pair of oranges; Ford gave him a suspicious look before accepting the one offered him, apparently deciding he didn’t care that it had been blatantly shoplifted.

“I still don’t understand why you feel the need to steal everything that’s not nailed down,” he said, digging into the peel.

“Hey, that’s slander!” Stan protested. “I steal things that are nailed down too, I’ll have you know. I just have to pull the nails up first. And then steal them.”

Ford snorted despite himself, and put his hand up to cover the smile threatening. “I mean it, though. I understand that you had to do illegal things to survive, but it’s not necessary now. Is it a compulsion? A habit you can’t break?”

“Actually it’s just because the people here make it so easy. They’re so gullible and trusting! I could probably  _ tell them _ that I was going to rob them blind and they’d hold out their money willingly. That’s what I mean when I say this place is ideal for a tourist trap, you know.”

“You’re not turning my house into a tourist trap.”

“I know, I know. You’ve said.”

“Because I mean it. It’s my home, I don’t want tourists tramping through it while I’m trying to work.”

“I  _ know _ , Stanford. I’m not gonna turn your house into a tourist trap. You don’t have to keep telling me.”

“I just want to make sure you understand.”

“I get it!” Stan snapped, and then huffed, looking away. “Look, I get it. I know you don’t want a tourist trap in your home. It’s fine.”

“It’s just that you keep bringing it up-”

Stan looked guilty for a moment, and, “What, you can’t take a joke?”

“A joke.”

“Yeah, a  _ joke _ . I thought it’d be funny. I guess not.”

“You have a very strange sense of humor.”

Stan folded his arms. “Knock knock. Who’s there? The forces of evil.”

There was a long pause. Ford stared. Stan stared back. The swings creaked; in the distance, the children laughed and screamed and shouted and were generally very noisy. Stan continued to stare. Finally, Ford looked away snootily.

“I don’t know what you think you’re proving. That joke was hilarious.”

-/-

Halfway through April, Stan made another trip into the city to sell off more of the jewels in the unicorn gold. They’d spent most of their last haul on the furniture and necessities for the kids (and Stan), and cash was getting tight again, especially as Ford had yet to renew his grant. When he came home, the Stanleymobile was sparkling and in pristine condition; he cheerily informed Ford that he’d gotten it cleaned and even taken it in for a tune-up, so now it was running better than it had since he’d finished fixing it up all those years ago.

“I’ve been meaning to ask,” Ford added, as they headed back inside. “How in the world did you manage to keep hold of this thing all those years?”

“It wasn’t easy,” he admitted. “It got impounded more than once while I was in prison and I’ve stolen it back more times than I like to think about. But it was all I had, and I’d lost everything else. I wasn’t gonna lose this, too.”

“I’m glad you didn’t. I’ve got some good memories with that old car.”

“Yeah?”

Ford hummed an affirmative, and, “I had my first kiss in that car.”

“What? Really? Wait, what? When? Where? Why didn’t I know about that?”

“Because I didn’t tell you.” He went into the kitchen to get a cola out of the fridge, Stan trailing behind him demanding an explanation. “It was embarrassing, I didn’t want you to make fun of me.”

“What’s embarrassing about it? Was she ugly? Ooh, was it Anita Morgenstern? I knew you had a crush on her! It was Anita, wasn’t it?”

Ford gave him an exasperated eyeroll and headed back into the tv room. “Why do you care?”

“Because it has the potential for mockery? Come on, Sixer, gimme the goods!”

Another eyeroll, and a heavy sigh. “It wasn’t Anita,” he said. “It was Rosie Hansen.”

“Whoah.” Stan’s eyebrows went up. “ _ You _ scored a kiss from  _ Rosie Hansen _ ? I’m repeating my previous questions. When, where, oh and also,  _ how _ ?”

“Early in our junior year,” Ford said, a wistful look coming into his eyes. “You remember I borrowed the car for a date, right? And I did  _ say _ I was going out with Rosie.”

“Yeah, but I didn’t  _ believe _ you.”

“Why?”

“Uh, because she was _ smoking hot _ ?”

“She was that.” He sipped his cola wistfully, a faraway look in his eye until Stan reached over and snapped his fingers in his face, pulling him back to the present. “Ah- right. Anyway, we ended up at Lookout Point and she kissed me. There’s really not much more to the story than that,” he added.

“Yeah, right.” Stan snorted. “You’re a terrible liar. Also I recall you didn’t have any dates after that for awhile and Rosie wouldn’t look your way for a month, so what  _ aren’t _ you telling me?”

A blush had spread up Ford’s cheeks. He cleared his throat nervously. “She uh, may have tried to do more than just kiss me.”

“Go on.”

“...and I didn’t want her to.”

“...why?”

“Because I didn’t? I was sixteen, Stan. I wasn’t ready. Besides, she uh… may have implied her interest was… well…” His blush was stronger, less embarrassed and more  _ mortified _ . “...she said she wanted to see what six fingers could be good for,” he muttered.

It took Stan a minute. Then his face hardened at the realization. “That bitch!”

“Stan, the kids.”

“Wha- oh, right.” He looked over at the kids, who had as if on cue chosen that moment to look up at him, two pairs of innocent trusting eyes locked onto him. “Still, though. She was only going out with you for your body? Rude.”

Ford was more amused than Stanley probably thought he ought to. “Really? So you  _ didn’t _ go out with Carla McCorckle because of her fondness for wearing hotpants?”

“That’s different.”

“How so?”

Stan was quiet for a long moment, glaring at his drink, and then huffed. “Because it  _ is _ .”

“All right, Stanley,” Ford turned away, amused. “If you say so.”

-/-

Stan had expected it to be just him and the twins for their walk that day, but he hadn’t gone far when Fina turned up, looking surly and grumpy and not at all her usual cheery self. She fell into step beside him and didn’t say anything, only offering greeting as a half-hearted wave at the twins.

“Shouldn’t you be in school?”

“Tch.” She folded her arms, glaring at the path as they walked. “Who cares about school?”

“Nerds like my brother.” He shoved his hands into his pocket and side-eyed her carefully. “Still gotta go, though. Your education is important.”

“You actually believe that, or are you saying it because you’re supposed to?”

“Kid, I’m a high school drop-out who was homeless until a month and a half ago.” She looked up at him at that, and he gave her a significant look. “You tell me.”

“School’s dumb,” she said, looking back to the path.

“True,” he agreed. “But it’s hard to find work without a diploma.” When she said nothing else, he added, “So uh… you wanna talk about it?”

“No.”

“Good, because I don’t wanna listen anyway. I just wanna take these two for a walk and get outta the house for a bit.”

They were silent for awhile, the conversation being taken over by the kids. They were a curious pair, running off to examine anything that caught their eye (one reason Stan liked to have company on his walks, in addition to wanting an adult to chat with, was that it was a lot easier to keep up with the pair when he had someone else there too- at least he’d finally convinced them to stay on the path). Stan and Fina’s pockets were soon laden down with what Mabel insisted on calling ‘spess-mans’ the twins kept bringing them for further examination later: interesting looking rocks, leaves, pinecones, seeds, sticks, even a clump of dirt and, the prize of the day, a dead beetle that Mabel found and promptly put in her brother’s hair.

Given the sheer number of hidden pockets in Stan’s jacket, that was a lot. In no time at all he was looking much lumpier than usual. Trying to overload him almost seemed like a game for the kids.

Eventually, they found themselves at the end of a path they’d never gone on, at the edge of a man-made clearing (the woods were full of them). In the middle was a church, old and forgotten and boarded up and overgrown but in surprisingly good condition for its obvious age. The kids were already running up to it, so Stan had no choice but to follow, but he managed to stop them before they went inside.

“Hang on, you two, this could be dangerous. Hey, Fina, you know anything about this?”

“This was a frontier town,” Fina said, shrugging. “There’s abandoned churches all over the place.”

“Eh, fair enough. Wanna go explore?”

“It could be dangerous.” 

She didn’t look reluctant, though, so they each grabbed one of the kids and stepped tentatively inside. Inside wasn’t all that exciting once their eyes adjusted to the gloom- it was just a dusty old church, abandoned to the elements and only just starting to fall apart in places. Stan rubbed his chin thoughtfully.

“This is still Ford’s land,” he said. “At least, I’m pretty sure we’re still on the property. I’ll have to check that out.”

“Why?”

Stan looked over at her, and shrugged. “Just… thinking about stuff.” He turned back to the door. “Come on, it’s almost lunchtime and I’m starving. Dan’s place isn’t far from here, I think- let’s go see if he’ll feed us.”

“Am I included in that?”

“Duh.”

As they left, though, she reached over and socked his arm. “Hey. Thanks for not making me go back to school.”

“Eh, whatever. You can afford to skip class now and then, I just don’t want you ending up like me is all.”

-/-

Stan had taken to doing odd jobs around town lately, for pretty much anyone who would hire him. His marketable skill set turned out to be an eclectic smorgasbord of random abilities that he had picked up on the road, so rather than try to get a real job, he found his place as the town’s odd-job man, doing everything from mowing lawns to chopping wood to babysitting to giving rides and even running errands for a woman who had broken her leg and was temporarily immobile.

This had two effects: the first was that he was becoming more and more well-known to the town, for all that he neatly dodged any and all personal questions about his life before Gravity Falls. Despite becoming a fixture of the town so quickly, he was also an urban legend because everyone knew him but  _no one_ knew anything  _about_ him. 

The other was more for his vanity, and that was that the muscle mass he’d lost to prison and hiding out from Rico was coming back.

He said as much to Dan, when the other came over to repair a hole in the roof. Dan looked him over and shrugged.

“I guess if you wanna call that muscle,” he said. “Now  _ these _ , on the other hand…”

He flexed, muscles rolling like beach balls under his skin and creating several conflicting emotions in Stan. Stan folded his arms.

“You are really bad for my self esteem, Corduroy.”

-/-

“When are you gonna let me turn that into a coffee table?” Stan asked, poking at the dinosaur skull Ford was examining. Ford rolled his eyes. Again with this.

“Never, Stanley. I am never, ever, ever going to let you turn this  _ invaluable piece of natural history _ into a  _ coffee table _ .” At Stan’s petulant huff, he pinched the bridge of his nose tiredly. “Why do you even  _ want _ to?”

“I dunno. Just seems like a good idea. It’d be something unique.”

“If you want a unique coffee table, you could probably get Dan to make you one. You could even get him to make one that looks like a dinosaur skull. He’d probably do pretty much anything for you if you got the twins to ask first.”

“That man does love my kids,” Stan agreed. “But I don’t want a coffee table that’s made to  _ look _ like a dinosaur skull, I want one that  _ is _ a dinosaur skull. That’s the fun part.”

“Well this one is mine and I’m using it for research,” Ford repeated. He couldn’t believe he even had to say that. “But I promise, if you ever find any evidence of prehistoric life of your own, you can do whatever you want to with it. Turn it into furniture or… whatever.”

“I’m gonna hold you to that,” Stan said. “If you found one fossil, there’s probably others. I’m gonna get that coffee table, one way or another. Just wait.”

-/-

Stan and Boyish Dan stood outside of the old church, Dan’s arms folded over his chest while he listened to Stan explain what he was thinking about. After a few minutes, he nodded. “It sounds pretty doable,” he said. “Some of the wood is rotten, but a lot of it is reusable. I can’t say for sure without seeing the rest of it, but your hunch sounds right.”

“Great!” Stan rubbed his hands together gleefully. “What about the rest of it? What do you think?”

Dan considered this, then clapped one heavy hand on Stan’s shoulder, causing his knees to buckle. “If anyone can do it, it’s you.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment.”

They turned and headed back down the path, discussing some of the more technical angles of Stan’s idea.

“So have you mentioned this to Ford?” Dan asked, as they neared the house. Stan shrugged.

“I’ve tried bringing it up once or twice, but I never get anywhere. I don’t think he’s really interested.”

“Well, you’ll have to ask him eventually. The church is on his land and I’m not getting sued again for tearing down a building when I wasn’t supposed to.”

“Wait, again?” Stan grinned. “This sounds like an interesting story.”

“Well to be fair the land belonged to the person who hired me when he  _ hired _ me. But the deed was stolen between then and when I started and I didn’t find out about it until after the fact.”

“The deed was stolen? That doesn’t make sense.”

“No? But the other guy had the deed now. That made it his land.”

“Did it change names?”

“No, just hands. What’s that got to do with it?”

Stan stopped in the middle of the path, and stared straight ahead, trying to process Dan’s confusion. He held up a hand, the other coming up to pinch the bridge of his nose.

“Wait, no, hang on. Are you telling me that in Gravity Falls, you just have to  _ have _ the deed and the contents are yours? Even without changing the name or going through any legal biz?”

“Yeah.”

“Oh my  _ god _ . Remind me to make Ford buy a safe. And a bigger one to put that one in.”

-/-

“Knock, knock~!”

A cheery singsong called from behind the screen door, the front door hanging open since it was such a nice day. Stan glanced over at Ford, who was working on his journal, and got up to answer. It was probably for him anyway; he’d managed to make more friends in Gravity Falls in just a few weeks than Ford had in six years.

It was for Stan; it was Susan. Or at least he was hoping she was there for him. She was dressed for the warmer weather in a skirt he definitely approved of, and carrying a brightly-colored box that smelled faintly of apples. Stan grinned toothily at her, and leaned against the doorframe.

“Hey, Susie,” he said. “What brings you here?”

“Well I was thinking about you boys up here in your mysterious shack and how lonely it must be, so I made you a pie!” She held up the box that must contain the pie. Stan’s grin grew broader, more genuine.

“Hey, that’s pretty nice of you!” He took it from her, and beckoned for her to come inside. “Hey Sixer! Susan here brought us a pie!”

Ford looked up from his writing when Stan plonked the pie on the table in front of him, and a blush crawled up his cheeks. “Oh. I- that’s very kind of you. Especially given our... last meeting.”

“I already told you, they don’t care.”

“Care about what?” Susan looked between them, clearly baffled. Stan threw a carefree arm around her shoulder, leaned close as if imparting some secret.

“My brother here thinks you guys are upset that he ran you off at the end of that tour,” he explained.

She frowned. “Well how else is a tour of a mad scientist’s house supposed to end?”

“I’m not a mad scientist.”

Disbelieving, Susan looked around, taking in the scientific odds and ends that seemed to accumulate all over the house.

“Denial’s a river in Egypt, bro-bro,” Stan said, giving Susan a conspiratorial wink.

-/-

The four of them were enjoying a lazy Saturday playing in the back yard when they heard a knock on the front door. Stan called a cheery, “We’re back here!”, and a moment later they were joined by Tyler and Mrs. Cutebiker. Tyler set his bike carefully against the porch and ran over to join them.

“My Mom wants to talk to you,” Tyler said to Stan. Stan nodded and hauled himself to his feet.

“Whoof! I’m getting to old for that.”

“You’re a dinosaur,” Tyler agreed, while Stan headed over to where Mrs. Cutebiker was waiting.

“Gimme the good news, gorgeous,” he said, once he’d reached her. After a quick glance over at his brother and kids, he took her arm gently and led her around the side of the house. “So? Any luck?”

“I asked, and he said it would be fine. You can have it for two hundred, but you’ll have to do all the repairs yourself, I can’t help you there.”

“That’s fine, two hundred is fine.” Two hundred was a  _ steal _ . And he was fine with the repairs, that was no problem. That would be  _ easy _ . Even if there was something beyond his own abilities, he could trade a favor with someone it wasn’t, and with a little careful haggling come off better in that arrangement as well. “I’ll come by with the money some time in the week, okay?”

They spoke a little longer, and when it was time for her to go he clapped her shoulder and beamed. Things were going his way- and okay, Ford was probably going to be annoyed with him when he found out what Stan was plotting, but, well. He had to do  _ something _ .

He wasn’t going to have it said that he was a freeloader. No more riding around on coattails for him.

He was going to start pulling his weight around here. Be a real contributing member of the household.

Assuming this worked.

Assuming he could pull it off.

Assuming it was something he could be good at.

-/-

To be perfectly honest, Ford was surprised Shermie took as long to call as he did, given that their mother had surely told her eldest son that they were on speaking terms again, let alone all the rest of it. Still, when the phone rang he wasn’t even thinking about his brother, and assumed it must be someone for Stan, since he was the one making all the friends in town.

“Pines residence.”

“Hey, Poindexter!”

“Shermie?”

“You know anyone else who calls you Poindexter and isn’t currently living in your house with his two adorable children who I’m told were lucky enough to take after me but that neither of you felt the need to tell me about?”

“Ah.” There was laughter on the other end, but it wasn’t mocking, it was warm and teasing and friendly, and Ford smiled as well. “Sorry. I haven’t really thought about telling you, and Stan… I don’t know why he wouldn’t. You know the family is still a sore subject with him.”

“Hey, speak for yourself.  _ I _ managed not to get estranged from him for ten years, thank you.”

“You did?”

“Yeah. I mean, he basically never calls, and I’m pretty sure he’s lying through his teeth about his life when he does, but he always sends the kids postcards from wherever he’s living when he stops anywhere for awhile.”

“Ah,” Ford repeated. He wasn’t sure how he felt about that, but he was glad Stan hadn’t lost contact with his entire family.

No, just his twin brother, who was supposed to be his best friend.

They were together  _ now _ . That was the part that mattered, that they had gotten there eventually.

“Hey.” Shermie’s voice was quiet on the other end. “I’m really glad you guys found each other again.”

“So am I,” Ford murmured. “I just wish we’d done it sooner.”

“No arguments here. Now, onto more important things than what a couple of bull-headed twits you two are: tell me about my niece and nephew. Mason and Mabel, right? Ma told me. You know Mabel is my mother-in-law’s name? She was really pleased when I mentioned it.”

“I- no, I didn’t know that.” Ford smiled. “We call Mason Dipper, though.”

“Okay, that’s adorable.”

“That’s what Ma said.”

They spent some time talking after that, Ford filling in Shermie on everything he could tell him about the twins. Shermie delighted in it, he loved that he was finally an uncle, even though it’d be ages before he actually got to meet the kids.

“You two really need to all come down and visit sometime,” he said. “You know Ma and Pa are moving out here soon, right?”

“I’d heard, yes.” He doubted Stan would want to visit when there was a chance of seeing their father. Though he’d said otherwise, Ford suspected that his brother was still hurting, and even if he wasn’t, he didn’t really relish the idea of how Stan would actually behave when faced with the man who had thrown him out into the streets at seventeen.

There was also the matter of Bill to consider. Ford was safe as long as he stayed within the protective barrier, but if he fell asleep outside of the house, then he was vulnerable to possession again. He didn’t like to think about what Bill would do with his body with his family around and no means of protection.

“You could always come visit us,” he said. “I… honestly don’t think Stan will want to go anywhere near where Pa is.”

“Hmm, fair enough. I guess we can figure something out later. We’re only about eight hours away, it’s not like the other side of the country. And I would like to see this town that you like so much that it monopolizes all of your time.”

Ford’s grip tightened on the phone. A chance to show his brother Gravity Falls? All of the weird stuff he studied? He could show him the gnomes, or the manotaurs, or the eyebats. It would be a chance to show that he wasn’t crazy to go out chasing the paranormal, that it was a real science that could really be studied.

“Ford? Hey, you still there?”

“Wh- oh- yes, I’m still here. I was just thinking.”

“Nothing new. Whatcha thinking about?”

“I think… it’d be really nice to have you visit.”

-/-

Stan had stopped off at the diner for lunch. He’d just finished up his work for the day and picked up the twins from Mrs. Ramirez’s house, and had decided to stop for lunch before they headed home. Because he didn’t feel like cooking, of course, and not at all because he wanted the chance to see and possibly flirt with Susan.

“Hey there, Honeypot,” he said, leaning on the counter and wiggling his eyebrows at her. She gave him an amused look while he helped the kids up onto the stools. “Ready to run away with me yet, Susie-baby?”

“Ha!” She flipped her notebook open. “One of these I’m gonna call your bluff, Stan Pines. So what’ll you have?”

“You’re breakin’ my heart, you really are.” He folded his hands over his heart and contrived to look pitiful, but when she didn’t respond he let out a despairing sigh. “I guess I’ll drown my sorrows in some hash browns. What about you two?”

“I want corndogs!” Dipper cheered, at the same time Mabel punched the air with one fist and shouted, “Chicken nuggets, chicken nuggets, chicken nuggets!”

“They’ll have that,” Stan said, barely hiding his amusement. Susan scribbled their order down and headed off, while Stan turned his attention to the rest of the patrons at the diner. He’d been all over the world and seen lots of crazy things, but Gravity Falls’ population was full of some of the oddest oddballs he’d ever met. It was no wonder Ford fit in here, or would if he’d ever get out of his house. And the place seemed to be carving itself around Stan in a way that nowhere he’d stopped at had ever done. It felt as if he  _ belonged _ in this town, and after a decade as a homeless, crooked drifter, he couldn’t be happier.

While he was people-watching, the door opened and Fiddleford came in. Stan waved when he was spotted.

“What’s up, Fiddles?” he asked, gesturing at the empty seat on the side not currently occupied by his kids. Fiddleford raised an eyebrow, but accepted the invitation.

“Fiddles?”

“Fiddleford is too much of a mouthful and the alternative is Ford.”

“Heh, fair enough, I’ve been called worse.” He beckoned Susan over and put in his order- a tuna melt, if anyone is interested- and then turned back to Stan. “You know, back in college some of our classmates used to call me an’ Stanford ‘the Fords’ to save on time.”

“Ha! I can just imagine how he took  _ that _ .”

“He wasn’t happy about it. I wasn’t either, for that matter, but I did feel his retribution was disproportionate.”

“Disproportionate retribution is Ford’s specialty,” Stan said darkly. “But in this case I kinda see where he’s coming from, having been ‘the Stans’ so much growing up. I’da probably decked someone.”

“Oh.” Fiddleford looked like that genuinely hadn’t occurred to him. “Huh.”

“Yep. It was probably worse for him, too, since I actually  _ did _ go by Stan.” Enough to make him feel suffocated? Wow. He really didn’t have his own identity, did he? Stan had been ‘Ford’s dumb sweaty twin brother’, but apart from that, getting lumped in together had always used a part of his own identity. The Stans, Stan twins, Pines twins- StanandFord was the only one that had even bothered to acknowledge that Ford had his own name, for all that Stan was the second twin with the copycat name in actuality.

“You know, you’re not what I was expecting,” Fiddleford said, dragging Stan out of his introspection. Stan raised an eyebrow at that, half-turning his attention away as their food arrived, and he was tasked with seeing to the twins. Once he’d turned to his hashbrowns, Fiddleford went on. “It’s just, the way he talked about ya’... on the other hand, I guess the estrangement wasn’t doing his image of ya any favors. But when he got tired enough to crack he’d just go on and on about how great ya were, an’ how you were probably livin’ it up in the lap of riches somewhere an’ he was never gonna see you again.”

Stan snorted. “That sounds exactly nothing like my brother, apart from the ‘tired enough to crack’ part.” Not that Stan had ever let him get that tired. By the time they got to their senior year, he’d made an art form out of dragging Ford away from his studies and forcing him to rest and relax and get some actual sleep.

Come to think of it, he’d fallen neatly right back into that role since coming to Gravity Falls.

“Eh, I think bein’ alone really messed him up for awhile there. He got more hostile about ya’ toward the end there, if it makes ya feel any better. Don’t know why it would, but you’re an odd duck, from what I hear.”

“If you keep forming your opinions about me based on what other people are saying you’re going to be very misinformed.” Although… “Actually, forget that. I kinda like the idea of there being rumors circulating about me.”

“There already are. Between Stanford getting labeled a mad scientist and no one knowing what to make of you, there’s a whole lore being made about what goes on in ‘that mysterious shack in the woods’.”

“Mysterious shack in the woods, huh?” Stan repeated the phrase, rolling it around on his tongue, tasting the way it felt when he said it. “I like that. Mysterious shack in the woods…”

Fiddleford was staring at him, so Stan gave him a sunny, showman’s grin, and clapped him on the back.

“Fiddles, you’ve just done me a very big favor.”

-/-

“We should build a boat,” Stan said, out of nowhere. Ford looked up sharply from the size crystals he was examining, and saw Stan giving him a worried look.

“Stanley-”

“A  _ fishing _ boat, Sixer,” Stan said, laughing nervously and reaching over to sock his arm. “I was just thinking, it’d be nice to go fishing sometimes, and a boat you build yourself is better than one you buy. That’s all.” He looked away, turning his attention to Mabel, whose hair was trying to brush out. “I wasn’t about to propose we go sailing off looking for adventure or anything.”

“Of course.” Ford looked away, and back to the crystals, as much so he wouldn’t have to see the hurt expression on his brother’s face as so he could continue his work. “Fishing season opens in June. That’s plenty of time to build a fishing boat.”

There was something heavy hanging in the air between them. The silence of the room was broken only by Mabel singing happily to herself while Stan brushed her hair, and Dipper’s mumbled dialogue as he played with the puppets of the monsters and royal twins Stan had made for the kids at some point. Ford got the feeling he was supposed to say something, but he didn’t know what, and after a few minutes, it seemed that the moment to say it had passed.

“Anyway, it’s been years since I really had anyone to go fishing with, and if I start teaching these two gremlins early I can get a few years in before they get too old to hang out with their old man.”

Assuming Stan hadn’t gone fishing while he was on the road, his last fishing buddy would have been Ford. They’d fished off the end of the pier frequently as children, rarely catching anything but always enjoying themselves anyway. Ford knew that one of the things Stan had liked about their sailing dream was that he would be able to go fishing whenever he wanted.

Assuming Stan  _ had _ gone fishing in the past decade, that meant Ford hadn’t been his last fishing buddy, that he’d had others on the road. He wasn’t sure how he felt about that, though of course it made no sense to be jealous. He had picked up just enough to know that Stan’s life had been pretty awful in the past ten years; if he had managed to find a moment to relax and fish with someone who didn’t hate him (and Ford clung like extraterrestrial glue to the idea that Stan had, somewhere, at  _ some point _ , had  _ someone _ , because if he was  _ completely alone _ that whole time-) then that was a  _ good _ thing.

“It’d be nice to go fishing together again,” he said, glancing up and meeting Stan’s eye.

Stan grinned. He looked so relieved. “Yeah. Yeah, it would be.”

-/-

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't actually know how big Ford's property is, nor whether the abandoned church was on it, but various context clues throughout canon allow me to arbitrarily interpret it as _big_ , and since there was no indication that the church _wasn't_ on the property, I'm using my author powers to make it so.
> 
> (Note: I'm still working out where this falls on Fiddleford's timeline re: the memory gun, so bear with me- I'll have it worked out before he appears on screen again.)


	8. The One With The Mysteriou Shack In The Woods

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stan honestly hadn't set out to cast himself as a monster. But Mabel had wanted to know _why_ the monster was terrorizing the princess, and Stan had said, "Because he's sad, and sometimes sad people do mean things." And Mabel, his sweet, friendly, compassionate little girl, had wanted to know _why_ the monster was sad. What had happened. What could be done to make him less sad. Could the princess hug him? And Stan said she had done just that, and suddenly it wasn't a generic tale of a princess and a monster anymore, it was the story of a monster who was sad and found a little girl who loved him and hugged him until he was a little less sad.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay so two things you may have noticed: one, this story is now part of a series! As currently stands, there are five shorts that will go along with the main story (apart from the one I posted earlier). Two are tie-in scenes that will shed some light on everything that's going on, and three are later scenes from the life of the Pines family as they keep moving forward in Gravity Falls.
> 
> Two, there's now a final chapter count. This isn't set in stone because I'm guessing based on how my chapters have been dividing so far, but I sat down today and mapped out the final arc and I already have an idea of how long the current arc will be, so I have an idea of how many chapters we'll end up with. Which is exciting! I've never been able to have a set chapter amount for a longfic before.
> 
> (eta: Changed the chapter title cause I hecked up.)

-/-

Ford came up from the lab one day to hear a horn honking outside, and came out surprised to find Stan in an old golf-cart, beaming like the sun. Dipper and Mabel were sitting in the passenger’s seat, and they cheered when Ford come out to join them.

“What… what?” Okay, so they’d gotten a bit better on income lately, but Stan was stingy with his money, Ford couldn’t see him blowing the price of a golf-cart- even a used one- like that. But Stan just kept grinning.

“Okay, so you’re probably going to be annoyed by this-“

“No sentence that ever starts with that bodes well.”

“-but I came up with a way to have a more steady income,” Stan continued, ignoring him. “So I was thinking about what I said about how I could make a killing running a tourist trap, and it’s coming up the tourist season in a couple months and people’ll be coming through here on vacation, so I was thinking…”

“You’re not turning my house into a tourist trap,” Ford said automatically. Stan had joked about it a couple of time since that first time, but Ford wasn’t having it, so he always made sure to shut him down even when he was joking.

“I’m not planning on it, yeesh, Ford, have a little faith. Nah, I’m gonna give educational tours of the forest.”

That was his conman voice, which meant it was time for Ford to mine his sentence for which bits were truthful but not honest, but this time he didn’t need to. He folded his arms and raised an eyebrow.

“Educational?”

“All right, so maybe not _that_ educational. But come on, I’ve read your journals back to front and I know all about the weird spooky stuff in the forest, I could give some pretty good tours. It’s all just telling stories anyway, really, when it comes down to it, and I’m good at that. You _said_ I was good at that.”

There was an accusation in his tone that Ford wasn’t sure how to feel about. Instead, he folded his arms. “You’d still need facilities. At very least an office to run the business aspects, and a parking lot for the tourists. And an address, to send the bills to.”

“I know, I know, but I already took care of it.” He slid out of the seat of the golf cart, followed by Dipper and Mabel, and the four of them headed inside. “Listen, you know that abandoned church on the property? I got Dan to look at it, and he said even though it’s falling apart, the wood is still pretty good! He could rebuild it for a fraction of what it would take to build a whole new building, and once you clean up the land around it there’s a lawn for the rubes. And it’s near enough to the interstate that it’s not too far off the beaten path. You just gotta be willing to let me use the space.”

Ford frowned, and Stan seemed to take this as a sign that he was going to refuse, because he went on before Ford could respond.

“Look, I already talked about this with Dan, the plans for the building are really feasible, and Fina said she’d be willing to work in the gift shop for me so I can sell like, postcards or something as souvenirs. And Mrs. Cutebiker sold me her husband’s old golf cart for a steal and Susan knows where I can get a trailer for it so I can take bigger tours, and she thinks I can probably get a catering deal made with Greasy’s so we have refreshments for the people waiting.”

“Wow. You’ve… really put a lot of thought into this, haven’t you?” And talked to half the town about it as well, it seemed.

“Well, yeah. I been thinking about it for awhile. I know you were really hacked off at me over that tour when I first got here, but it- it really _clicked_ with me, you know? I really could make something out of this idea. I could be _good_ at something for once.”

Ford wanted to tell Stan that he was good at lots of things, but when he opened his mouth what came out instead was, “Why didn’t you tell me?” Because Stan had been thinking about this- apparently working on making it a reality- for awhile, he’d said. And Ford had thought they were doing better but Stan hadn’t said anything to him about it.

“I tried,” Stan said. “You kept shutting me down, I didn’t think you were interested. But look, you don’t have to be involved. I just need you to okay me to use the space. Probably get it in writing all legal like at some point, but that can’t possibly take long, like maybe just an afternoon, and then-“

“Is there anything else I can do to help?”

“...what?”

Ford frowned. Now that he thought about it, Stan _had_ tried to bring up the topic, more than once. He’d assumed it was a joke, or a wistful comment, or an attempt to talk him into going along with some harebrained scheme of his.

But he’d apparently given it thought, put time and effort into the logistics, spoken to others about how to make it doable, and even made sure that Ford wouldn’t have to be involved in any way. As if he thought Ford wouldn’t want anything to do with his plans.

_(“You ruined my dream!” “You ruined mine first!”)_

And maybe his assumption wasn’t unfounded. While Ford had spent the last decade thinking of the incident as his selfish brother selfishly ruining his dreams (and he knew he’d had every right to be angry), it had recently occurred to him that everything Stan did was a response to… his selfish brother selfishly ruining his dreams. At least Stan’s dreams had included a place for his brother, even if Ford hadn’t wanted that place anymore.

“I’m sorry I shut you down,” Ford said instead of any of that. “I thought you were trying to- well, it doesn’t matter. Now that I understand, I want to help. So what can I do? Apart from letting you use the church and the lawn, which, of course you can, it’s a wonderful idea to use them.”

Stan looked sheepishly surprised. “You uh. You really wanna get involved with my dumb scheme?”

Ford reached over and rested a hand on his shoulder. “Of course I do. I want to be involved with all of your dumb schemes. Um, provided they don’t require me to do anything _too_ illegal.”

There was hope in Stan’s eyes, and a warmth in Ford’s chest. He’d messed up, but he’d made it right without them needing to fight, and now his brother was happy. And he was going to run a business and Ford was going to help him make it work and maybe it wasn’t treasure hunting but maybe Stan could find happiness in a new dream.

...and, well, maybe they could go look for treasure in the lake sometime, in that boat they were building. He hadn’t gotten into his dream school but he’d managed to get his dream job. Maybe Stan could have a piece of his dream, too. One they could both get behind.

-/-

They met up with Dan at the old church later that day. With Ford’s approval in the bag, he took them over every square inch of the building, explaining which parts would be salvageable and which would need to be tossed.

“We’re not tossing anything,” Stan said. “I can probably use the old wood for _something_.”

“It wouldn’t be safe for any kind of structure, and it wouldn’t hold a carving,” Dan said. “What else could you use it for?”

“I dunno. I’ll think of something.” He ran his hand along the old organ stood up in one corner. “This thing any good?”

He glanced over at Ford and Dan, who both shrugged, neither knowing much about instruments. He plonked a key experimentally, unsurprised when nothing came of it. Well, even if he couldn’t have it restored or use it for the attraction, there’d probably be someone looking to pay good money for an ancient organ, if only for the antique value.

“There’s something else we need to talk about,” Dan said, unrolling one of the sheets of paper he had tucked under one arm and laying it out across the top of the organ. It was a map of the area, at least Stan assumed it was the area since it had “Gravity Falls” written across the top, but it didn’t look like any map Stan had ever seen. There were a lot of colored strips crisscrossing their way over and around each other, with tiny labels Stan hadn’t a hope of making out without his glasses. Dan tapped one massive finger on one of the strips. “I cross referenced this with a surface map last night. There’s a cavern under this spot, and the ground is unstable- you won’t be able to have a strong enough foundation to build on, especially if you mean to add a basement.”

Stan looked disappointed. “So what do we do?”

“We build somewhere else,” Dan said, as if it was obvious. He pointed at a greyer area of the map. “Here’s the best spot. You’ll need to clear out more of the land beyond the clearing, but you would have needed the wood anyway and you won't have to buy it since you're getting it from your own land anyway. Turning it into lumber will cost you but I can get you a good rate at the sawmill no problem.”

“Are there any records of the cavern?” Ford asked, peering at the map. “Has anyone explored it yet?”

“It’s part of the abandoned mines,” Dan said. “They’re all over these woods.”

“A mineshaft?” Stan squinted at the map, then gave up and slipped his glasses out of their hidden pocket. “Is there any way to access it on the property?” He looked over the map, trying to make sense of it, and, “Help me out, Corduroy, I have no idea how to read this thing.”

“The nearest entrance is here,” Dan said, pointing. “But I could build a new entrance for you nearby if you wanted.”

“Are you planning something, Stan?” Ford asked.

Stan nodded slowly, hesitantly. He wasn’t sure if he was or not, but there was something about the idea that had his fingers itching with the potential. He kicked his brain to get it to put his thoughts into some semblance of order, and, “I think… maybe a spooky mineshaft would make a good attraction? Or… something…”

“It definitely presents historical value,” Ford agreed. “Gravity Falls was founded as a lumber town, but it does have a history of mining as well.” He hummed thoughtfully, and took out his journal to scribble some questions in. “I wonder if we could acquire the records for this particular mineshaft. The library should have something about that, I think.”

“If you don’t, you could always ask around,” Dan said. “A lot of the families that live in this town go back to its establishment- someone is bound to have kept some records. We’re proud of our pioneer heritage here.”

“Good to know,” Stan said absently, staring down at the map. He still couldn’t make sense of it, but it looked like there was an elaborate maze that ran under Ford’s property. He could _definitely_ do something with that, easily. He rolled up the map. “All right, let’s get back to the house. I’m starving and Mrs. Ramirez said she’d have lunch waiting when we got back. And I want to look at this map some more.”

-/-

They dropped Dan off and headed home (the golfcart was running beautifully), where they were met by the twins running out to greet them, each holding up sheets of construction paper to show off. Apparently Mrs. Ramirez had kept them occupied with arts and crafts, and now they were demanding his attention to their creations.

It was a struggle to take in both of them at once, and Stan felt a pang of sympathy for his parents, who had no doubt been in this exact position many times before. He compromised by gently accepting one creation in each hand, holding them both up for examination. Mabel’s was an explosion of macaroni noodles, which she’d glued haphazardly over the paper and then coated the whole thing in glitter. Dipper had gone for a more structural design by cutting randomly into the paper and then folding the pieces up or down to create a… mess. But a mess that he clearly hoped that his father would appreciate, so Stan handed their creations back and patted each of their heads.

“Those are wonderful,” he said, holding out his hands for each of them. “Why don’t we go to our room and find somewhere to hang them up so I can look at them any time I want to?”

...and was promptly dragged inside, leaving Ford to wander into the kitchen to tell Mrs. Ramirez they were back and thank her for watching the twins for them.

-/-

In the past few weeks, the wall on either side of the stained glass window in their room had become an art gallery of sorts. Both of the kids loved arts and crafts, but Mabel was a wiz: while her current creations were childish and messy, there was a suggestion of a budding artist within her work. Dipper enjoyed the work as well, but while he was always enthusiastic, his enthusiasm waned quickly, where Mabel’s only seemed to grow.

As such, Stan was frequently being presented with gifts from both of his children, and all of these went up on the wall. He’d even bought a bunch of cheap plastic frames at the swap meet a few weeks ago, just so he could make it look more authentic.

He didn’t think Dipper’s 3d structure would work with a frame. He set Mabel to picking out where to hang her latest creation while he examined the walls thoughtfully. By the time Mabel had chosen a spot on the wall, he’d had an idea. He slipped some thread out of his jacket and got Dipper to show him where he should hang it by, and then the odd 3d structure was hung from the ceiling, dangling a few inches on its string and looking rather pretty, actually. This was clearly the way the art was meant to be displayed, and he said as much, gaining a proud grin from Dipper, which grew when Stan ruffled his hair and slipped an arm around his shoulders, hugging him loosely against his leg.

-/-

Once Stan and the kids had disappeared to hang their artwork, Ford went into the kitchen, where Mrs. Ramirez was cutting a platter of sandwiches for all of them. A bowl of baby carrots sat on the table, and he swiped one before moving over to help.

“Mrs. Ramirez,” he asked hesitantly. “May I ask what you think of my brother’s tourist trap idea?”

“I think it is a very nice idea,” she said. “Tourists often pass through Gravity Falls but have very little reason to stay. The added business from having a real tourist attraction nearby would do very well for the town, I think.”

“That’s certainly one angle to look at it from,” Ford agreed. “I hadn’t even considered what benefits his idea might have for the town as a whole.”

“My little Fina is quite taken with the idea,” she added. “And she is looking forward to working for Mr. Pines in his gift shop.”

Ford chuckled. “She’ll get past that once she knows what it actually means to work, not just play at working.”

“Yes, that worries me, too. But, she is a good girl. I think she will do well.”

They lapsed into silence, and Ford asked the question he was really getting at. “Mrs. Ramirez, do you really think this will work out?”

She opened her mouth to reply, but they were interrupted by Stan and the kids joining them, and whatever she was about to say was lost to the sound of the kids shouting about how hungry they were, no doubt encouraged by their father. He had Mabel tossed over his shoulder and Dipper tucked under his arm, and he spun them around once- making them squeal in delight- before dropping them carefully into their chairs. They scrambled around to sit in them properly.

“Abuelita made chicken salad,” Mable shouted. “We helped!”

(They weren’t entirely sure when or why the kids had started calling Mrs. Ramirez Abuelita. Once Stan had noticed it, he’d checked with her, to make sure it was okay, and she’d given him that small, assuring smile of hers. “Sometimes my grandchildren come over while I’m watching them,” she’d explained. “The children may call me Abuelita if they want to, I do not mind.”)

“You did?” Ford took his own seat beside her, while Stan helped Mrs. Ramirez bring the platter of sandwiches and the bowl of carrots to the table.

“We squished the eggs,” Dipper said, holding up his hands and making squishing motions with his fingers. "Like this!"

Stan pretended to look shocked by that. "Yikes! You kids remembered to wash your hands, right?"

-/-

Ford decided to take a break in his woodland excursions to see how the new building was coming along. Dan was working quickly; he’d already torn down the old church- and been proven right about his warnings regarding the mineshaft, because there was already a narrow rift forming beneath the foundations- and cleared the land and dug the basement, and today he was putting up the frame for the new building.

It was going to have a basement and four rooms; two large rooms on the ground floor that would form the museum and gift shop, and one small and one large room on the upper level that would serve as Stan’s office and workshop, where he could put together attractions. The extra wood needed to make a much larger building was making it pricier, but for once Stan wasn’t being as stingy with his money as normal- well, beyond his usual sparing every expense ways.

Ford looked over the frame and then leaned back against one beam with a sigh.

“Dan, do you really think Stanley can make something come out of this scheme of his?”

Dan paused in grabbing the ladder, and considered the question.

“Well on the one hand, there’s nothing weird or interesting about Gravity Falls,” he said, swatting at a fairy that was humming too loudly near his ear. “On the other hand, If anyone can do this, it’s Stan. Your brother is really smart, you know, he could probably turn a profit with any scheme he tried.”

And something new happened to Ford: he felt a warm, glowing feeling in his chest, a feeling that said ‘of course Stan is smart’ and ‘of course Stan can do anything’ and ‘who do you think you’re telling?’ And just as soon as that feeling came another rode in on its heels, a guilty, gut-twisting feeling.

Because no one, in his entire life, had ever told Ford that Stan was _smart_ . That he was _going places_ . In fact, Ford couldn’t think of a single instance where someone had paid Stan special praise to Ford; everything was either ‘Stan twins’, which was suffocating, or (especially as they got older and it became more and more apparent just _how_ smart Ford was), more often it was Stan who was being told that his brother was smart and his brother was going places and wasn’t he lucky, wasn’t he proud?

( _I never minded being a dumber, sweatier version of you, you know. I just wanted you to want me around_.)

“Oh,” Ford said, as that guilty feeling banished the warm one in one swift move. Dan raised an eyebrow at him.

“You gonna hurl, man?”

“No, I-” He sighed. “I think I may be the world’s dumbest genius.”

“Yeah, probably.” Dan grabbed the ladder and hauled himself up to the roof. “I gotta get to work. We can talk more later, if you want.”

-/-

While Dan worked on the actual building (Stan had wondered why he was building it alone, and Dan had just shrugged and said it was a one-man job), Stan took the kids into town so he could get some books on the town’s mining history out of the library. He should probably go ahead and sign the kids up for library cards anyway, since he doubted Ford _wasn’t_ going to stress nerdy stuff like the library as an integral part of their upbringing. Might as well go ahead and get that out of the way.

(“I think that’s a wonderful idea!” Ford had said with enthusiasm when Stan mentioned it, thus proving him right and earning a playful shove and a scoffing, “You would, nerd” from Stan. One that didn’t fully mask the fondness in his tone, but he’d deny that later. Or maybe he wouldn’t. So he loved his brother. So what?)

There was a crowd of kids gathered around in one corner of the library when Stan got there, and he wandered over to inspect it in case Mabel and Dipper might want to be involved. There was a young man with a marionette speaking quietly with the librarian, looking quite distraught; after a moment he broke off, and the librarian rested a sympathetic hand on his shoulder. She said something quiet in return, and he gave her an appreciative nod before turning and hurrying away.

Once he was gone, the librarian moved over to address the kids.

“I’m afraid something has come up with Mr. Bensen,” she said gently. “It’s a family emergency and he’s had to leave very suddenly, so storytime is cancelled today. I’m very sorry,” she added, because the kids were making distressed noises. “You kids are of course welcome to stay here in the children’s area until your parents return for you.”

“But we want a story!” said one gap-toothed youngster, and another rallied behind him.

“Yeah, can’t someone else tell us a story?”

The librarian looked hesitant. Judging by how small the library was, Stan would guess she was the only one on staff, which meant she couldn’t just drop everything to read to a bunch of kids, even if cancelling storytime looked like it was breaking her heart as much as it was the kids’.

Maybe the disappointment on everyone’s faces was what prompted Stan to, without thinking, pipe in with, “I could tell them a story.”

Two dozen hopeful faces turned to stare at him.

“Hey, you’re that mystery guy that lives in the woods!” said the gap-toothed youngster.

“Yep,” Stan said, taking the zips of his jacket in hand and beaming. “Mr. Mystery, that’s me! Now I don’t wanna see you little tykes miss out on your storytime, so howsabout I tell you a story instead?”

“What kinda story?” asked a suspicious girl with red pigtails, who he swore must be related to Dan.

“What kinda story you kids wanna hear?”

“I wanna hear a story about a princess!” chimed in a third child of indeterminate gender, while a fourth little boy added, “No, I wanna hear about a monster!”

Stan grinned his showman’s grin. “You kids are in luck,” he said. “Cause it just so happens I know lots of stories about a princess and _two_ monsters, and a prince too.”

“Are they nice monsters?” a fifth little girl asked shyly, hugging her knees to her chest. Stan’s expression softened.

“The nicest monsters,” he said. “So uh. You guys wanna hear the story?”

He was met with a cheer from the kids, and a grateful look from the librarian, who crossed over to join him and took both of his hands between her own.

“Thanks for this, Mr. Pines,” she said. “I hate to leave the kids without a story at all.”

“Hey, no problem,” he said. “Just don’t spread it around what a bleeding heart I am. And please- it’s Mr. Mystery.”

“Well, everyone say thank you to Mr. Mystery for telling you a story,” she said, and gave him another grateful look before leaving during the chorus of ‘Thank you, Mr. Mystery!’ that erupted from the kids.

Once she was gone, Stan got the twins settled into the gaggle of youngsters, then took the seat that was clearly reserved for the storyteller. He drummed his fingers nervously on his knees- he’d been going on autopilot before, and now he wasn’t sure what he’d been thinking. The twins loved the stories he told, but it wasn’t like they knew any better, and the stories were in a way _about_ them. And his kids loved him, which was a major factor in what they thought of the stories. These kids didn’t have either of those things, they were going to hate the stories. And not to mention that they were riddled with plotholes, Ford had said, and these kids weren’t three, well, most of ‘em weren’t, they were going to _notice_ , they were going to pick his stories apart for spare parts, why had he decided to do this?

The gap-toothed kid he was starting to think of as a the spokesman half-raised his hand before speaking without waiting. “Mr. Mystery, where’s your book? Aren’t ya gonna read to us?”

“Well uh- these stories ain’t wrote down,” he said. “I, uh.” He hesitated, and mentally kicked himself. It was just like any other con, and he wasn’t good at much but he was _good_ at conning. His showman’s grin returned. “I got these stories from the monster himself. Sometimes he calls me up and tells me all about his adventures with his best friend and the royal twins, cause he knows my own kids like to hear about ‘em. So they’re not written down.”

There were some gasps and murmurs from the kids. “So these stories are _true_?” the possibly-a-Corduroy girl breathed. “Wow!”

“Yep! So uh. What kinda stories you kids wanna hear? You.” He pointed at the shy girl who’d asked about how nice the monsters were. “What kinda story- I mean, which of their adventures do you wanna hear about?”

“Um-” She hugged her knees closer, uncomfortable being the center of attention, and mumbled, “...I like stories with mermaids in them.”

“Well, you’re in luck!” he said. “Because it just so happens I know a story about a group of merfolk who got trapped in a lake, and the monsters and the twins helped them get back to the sea so they could rejoin with their family. You kids wanna hear it?”

He was met with cheers, and dropped into his storytelling voice with, “You’ve all heard tales of the merfolk who live in the lake near here-”

-/-

The first story was met with rousing success. He’d been right about the kids picking apart his story for plotholes, but rather than seeing this as a downside, the kids seemed to enjoy making him spin explanations for the contradictory events. They certainly kept him on his toes, that was for sure.

(“How did the merfolk get stuck in the lake in the first place?”

“There was a flood and they got stuck when the water level dropped.”

“My dad says saltwater fish can’t live in freshwater.”

“It was a saltwater lake.”

“Why could the merfolk speak Spanish?”

“Why could the merfolk speak English?”

And so on. By the time he finally finished the story, the kids seemed to have made a game out of seeing if they could stump him. He wasn’t about to let a bunch of pre-schoolers get the drop on him, of course, but his bullshitting abilities were getting a serious workout all the same.)

The first story was followed at request from the probably-a-Corduroy girl by a story about the prince bringing an arcade game to life. After that the gap-toothed spokesboy requested “Something _scary!_ ” and got for his troubles a tale of zombies who were defeated by the power of rock-and-roll. The kids ate it up, screaming and gasping in all the right places, and cheering when the monster, previously occupied with a project of his own, came out of nowhere to save the day. After that parents were starting to arrive because storytime was drawing to a close, so he wound everything down with a much friendlier story about the royal twins solving an old mystery together while the monsters relaxed at the beach.

“Looks like it’s time for you kids to head out,” Stan said, to a collective groan from the kids. The gap-toothed kid put his hand up tentatively.

“Mr. Mystery,” he said. “What are the monsters’ names?”

Well, they’d finally managed to stump him. He froze. He’d never been bothered about giving them names before- they were always just the monsters.

“They’re uh. Their names are- uh-“ Aw, geez, well, no point in pretending anymore. “-Knucklehead and Poindexter.”

“Those aren’t _names_!” Gap-tooth said.

“Yeah? What’s your name, kid?”

“Rowdy.”

“Yeesh. That a nickname or did your parents hate you?”

“It’s a nickname. I’m not telling you my real name.”

“Well, how’d you get the name Rowdy?”

He grinned, showing off his missing tooth- teeth, there was another gone at the bottom. “Guess.”

“Yeah, I just bet.” Stan grinned back. He liked this kid. “Well, monsters like our two aren’t named like humans are. They’re named for what sort of people they need to be. Poindexter needed to be a smart guy so their folks named ‘im to be a smart guy. And Knucklehead needed to be strong so he could protect ‘im, so he got a strong name.”

“What if they hadn’t turned out to match their names?” Absolutely-a-Corduroy asked.

“Then their names wouldn’t have really fit, would they?”

“Could they change them?” Rowdy asked. “Like how what I did?”

“I don’t see why not.”

The kids seemed to accept this explanation, and the librarian took advantage of the brief respite of questions to dismiss the kids, after prompting another chorus of “Thank you, Mr. Mystery”. He waited till all the kids were gone, and beckoned his own two over to sit beside him.

“Did you guys have fun?” he asked. It occurred to him suddenly to wonder if the kids had been okay with him using the characters for storytime- he’d made those characters for them, after all. What if they felt he shouldn’t have shared them?

“When did the monster tell you those new stories?” Mabel asked, apparently unbothered. “You said you hadn’t talked to him in awhile.”

“Oh, well, he called last night after I put you two to bed,” Stan said hastily. “And he told me all his latest adventures, and he said to tell you two that he was really glad you were enjoying his adventures so much.”

“You didn’t tell us the monsters were brothers,” Dipper said. “I thought you said they were best friends.”

“They’re best friends and brothers,” Stan said. “Did I not mention that part? It must have slipped my mind.”

“Are they twins like us?” Mabel asked.

“Yep. That’s how we met,” he added. “We were both hurting real bad over being apart from our twins, and he started telling me all about his adventures to find ‘im.”

“And then he did! And you did too!”

“Yep!” He ruffled her hair, looped an arm around Dipper and hugged him close. “And you found yours, too, and the prince and princess are together again as well. So we’re all happier now.”

“Cause bein’ a twin is the best thing in the world,” Dipper said firmly, and nodded.

“You bet it is.” Stan stood, holding out his hand for both of them to take. “Come on, let’s go get you two gremlins your library cards, okay?”

-/-

Ford went into the library and was promptly tackled by two shrieks of “Uncle Ford!” He managed to catch Mabel as she hurled herself at him, but was slower on the uptake with Dipper, and ended up with the boy tucked under his arm, kicking his legs gleefully. He shifted Mabel to one hip and set Dipper down, then lifted him properly on the other, one eye scanning the room for his brother as he did. He spotted him over at the librarian’s desk, and made his way over to him.

“Uncle Ford, Uncle Ford! Look look look!” Mabel waved something in his face, which he had no hope of seeing either for how close it was _or_ how much she was waving it, but before he could say so Dipper had held up a similar object of his own.

“We got libry cards,” Dipper said. “Papa had to sign them for us but they’re ours, see? They’ve got our names on ‘em.”

Mabel had stopped waving the card around so now Ford was able to look at them properly- sure enough, they were holding Gravity Falls Public Library cards. There was a stamp for the library on it, and written across the bottom were the kids’ names, in Stan’s blocky capitals, next to an ‘x’ that was clearly written by an inexpert hand.

“We made our own exes though,” Mabel said, pointing at her shaky one. “See? That says ‘Mabel’.”

“No it doesn’t,” Dipper argued. “It’s a ex. It doesn’t _say_ anything. 'Cept ex.”

“It does _so_ say Mabel! Papa said so!”

“You’re both right,” Ford said. “The ‘x’ is a signature made by people who are unable to write their own name- like you two, for example. In this context, it says that you, Mabel, have signed the card yourself. It doesn’t _spell_ Mabel, but it _says_ Mabel, in a way.”

“See?” Mabel said, and stuck out her tongue. Dipper reached over to push her face in retaliation, and Ford set them down before he found himself the platform for a couple of squabbling toddlers. They’d reached Stan anyway, who had turned his attention to the librarian once he saw Ford with the twins.

There was a stack of books on the counter. By the looks of things, most of them were reference books regarding the mines and the history of Gravity Falls. There was also a book on taxidermy and what looked like a textbook as well, but Stan slipped that one out of sight before Ford could see what it was for.

“I see the kids have been showing you their library cards,” Stan said.

“They were very excited.”

“Can we go pick out our books now Papa?” Dipper said, tugging on Stan’s pant leg. “You said when Uncle Ford got here.”

“I did, didn’t I?” He added, to Ford, “You mind helping ‘em? Miss Mary here is helping me out with those mining maps.”

Ford grinned. “Stan, I would _love_ to help your children pick out their first library books.”

“Yeesh. You look too happy about this.”

“It’s a big moment!” He smiled harder, and held out his hands to the pair of them. “All right, let’s go find something. This is a momentous occasion, you know.”

“Papa said you’d say that,” Dipper said, as they made their way into the stacks.

-/-

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rowdy's real name is Julian, but you didn't hear that from me.


	9. The One With All The Dinosaurs

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It was just a daydream, really. He knew, realistically, that it would be a long, long time before it was a viable option. But the thought was there, in the back of his mind: making so much money with the Mystery Shack that he could support his family and fund Ford's research to his heart's content. What a dream it was.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Re: the chapter titles, I got mixed up when I pulled the previous chapter from the main file. It's been fixed now!

**** -/-

Once Dan got the new mine entrance done, Stan took the kids out to explore it with him. He wanted to see the place as soon as possible, and start working on ideas for how to turn it into an attraction. Probably it wasn’t safe to take the kids with him to an abandoned mineshaft, but Dan had given it a once-over and declared it ‘fine’ and Stan figured it’d be okay as long as he kept them close and didn’t touch anything.

“Wanna come with us, Sixer?” he asked, while he buckled the kids into the golf-cart.

Ford shook his head regretfully. “It does sound fascinating, but I have work to do. You’ll have to show me later.”

“Eh, fine, but if I find gold down there it’s mine.”

“Of course,” Ford said indulgently. It wasn’t like the people of Gravity Falls would have just left gold lying around in their mines, but Stan lived in hope of treasure. “I told you the land was to be used as you needed, so anything you find down there is naturally included in that.”

-/-

Going into a spooky mine shaft that may or may not have treasure still lying around was exactly the kind of adventure Stan would have liked to share with his brother, but he figured there were plenty of adventures to be had in these forests, so he’d just make Ford make it up to him later. Maybe once they got their boat made he’d get him to explore the lake with him. He thought he’d seen something about a cave behind the falls in one of the journals, so they could explore that instead.

At least he wasn’t alone- Mabel, the more quickly distracted, was perched on his shoulders, and Dipper’s hand was held firmly in his own so they couldn’t get hurt, and both of them were excited to see the mineshaft, for all that until half an hour ago they hadn’t even known what a mineshaft  _ was _ .

It was a deeper drop into the cavern than Stan was expecting. Dan had rigged up a simple platform lift that Stan had to crank himself, and Stan made a mental note to put something a little sturdier up before he started bringing anyone down here. And then they touched bottom and Stan saw the cavern and it was… not what he’d been expecting.

For one thing, it was clearly natural. Stan didn’t know much about caves and stuff, but this one was far too big to have been dug by the miners of a hundred and fifty years ago. There was also more plantlife down here than he’d expected. True, it wasn’t surprising that a cavern might have things growing in it, but he knew enough about plants to know they needed sunlight. Right? But these plants seemed to be thriving, despite being in a dark, gloomy cave, whose only source of sunlight was the few drops that trickled down from the recently uncovered crack in the earth.

“Papa, look at the pretty flowers!” Mabel said cheerily. “Can I see them? Please Papa? Pleeeease?”

Stan chuckled, tightening his grip on Dipper’s hand as the boy tried to run over to look as well. “Hold your horses, you two. Those things could be poisonous- I don’t want you touchin’ anything until we know, okay?”

He’d have to drag Ford down here after all. This would probably be the sort of weirdo supernatural thing he’d love to see, and he could tell Stan about the plants and whether they were safe to touch and be around so Stan would know whether to let his kids touch them.

The lantern light bobbed around the cavern, taking in a veritable garden of weird plants before there was a rumble and what Stan had thought was just a pool of water erupted, blasting into the roof of the cavern before stopping. There were other similar pools nearby; at least now Stan knew why the cavern was so muggy, and how that crack had formed.

“What was  _ that _ ?!” Mabel shrieked, and he couldn’t tell if she was frightened or excited. Probably both.

“It was a geyser,” Stan breathed. A geyser! Tourists loved those! He was going to make a  _ fortune _ ! “I, uh. I don’t really know much about them. It’s like, when water gets so hot it erupts. You’ll have to ask your uncle, he can explain it better than I can.”

And yeah, he would  _ definitely _ be dragging Ford down here, busy or not. He was regretting not having  _ already _ brought him, because Ford was going to eat his stupid hair over all the potential science down here.

There were more tunnels branching off from the cavern they were in. Stan picked one at random and headed down it, but it was shorter than he’d expected and opened into a new cavern, this one even bigger and filled with something golden-brown that glistened when the lantern light hit it. Stan moved over to the nearest to inspect it, and then froze.

And then a wide, tearful smile spread across his face as cash registers went off in his head.

-/-

Ford was just coming up from the basement to seek out a device he’d left up in the main house… somewhere… when the front door burst open and Stan rushed in. Stan grabbed his hand without explanation and started pulling him to the door, shouting some nonsense about how Ford  _ really really needed to see this _ .

Ford briefly considered refusing, but Stan’s excitement was written all over his face and he’d laced their fingers together the way he used to when they were children, when he had something he needed to show Ford  _ right this second _ that he felt explanations couldn’t do justice to, so Ford laughed and let himself be pulled out to the golf cart, where the twins scooted over to make room for him and Dipper told him very sternly to buckle up.

He did so. You didn’t  _ not _ buckle up when a stern three year old was telling you to.

“What’s going on, Stan?” he asked, when Stan slid into the driver’s seat and cranked the golf cart back up.

“Nope, not telling.” Stan said firmly. “You gotta  _ see _ this.”

Ford pouted, then turned his attention to the twins. “Do you two know what has your papa so excited?”

“Not a word!” Stan said, giving the kids meaningful looks. Apparently he’d already told them not to tell, because they clamped their hands over their mouths and shook their heads. He looked into two very Stannish expressions and then back to his brother, who let go of the wheel to waggle a finger at him. “It’s a surprise and you’re not gonna ruin it by being sneaky.”

More pouting, and Ford folded his arms over his chest to drive the point home. It was unnecessary; when Stan had his mind set on something, nothing was going to shake him. Of course, Ford wasn’t prone to giving up either, so the whole way to the entrance to the mines, he asked question after question, trying to figure out what Stan had found.

He pestered his stubbornly silent brother right until the lift touched ground in the cavern and Stan shone the lantern out on…

“...ohhh,” Ford breathed. He took a tentative step forward, then another, then dashed over to the nearest plant, already reaching excitedly for his journal. “Amazing! Stanley, this is unbelievable!”

“You ain’t seen nothin’ yet,” Stan said, chewing on his lip. “But go ahead and have a look before I show you the rest. They’re pretty weird plants, right?”

“They’re not weird at all!” Ford scribbled some notations, and a few questions as well, all the while looking around and gaping at the cavern. “Stanley, these plants are  _ prehistoric _ ! Jurassic, possibly, though of course I’m not an expert on prehistoric flora- they could be Triassic, or, hell, who knows? But it’s still amazing! How have they lived down here for so long?” He looked around again, and spotted the geyser. “Perhaps they’re adapted to survive on steam- maybe?” He scribbled that down- questions for later. “But either way, it’s amazing that they’ve lived for so long unchanged. It’s as if evolution hasn’t touched them. That’s- that’s  _ astonishing _ .”

He knelt to sketch out one of the plants, and was aware of the twins appearing behind him, leaning on him while they tried to look over his shoulder at his notes.

“Uncle Ford, can we touch the pretty flowers? Papa said we’re not allowed to touch until you tell us they’re not poisonous.”

“Hmm…” Ford considered that, eying the plants. “I’m not sure. We’ll have a hold on touching anything, okay?

This earned him a pair of pouting twins, and then there was a touch to his shoulder. He looked up to see Stan staring down at him with a very… well,  _ Stannish _ look to his eye.

“C’mon,” he said. “You’re really gonna wanna see what’s in the other cavern.”

“Oh yes, you mentioned showing me the rest.” He stood, and followed Stan down the tunnel he’d chosen. “More plants?”

“Even better,” Stan said vaguely.

“Treasure, then?” He let out a small laugh, but Stan just shot him a knowing look.

“You could say that.” They’d reached the next cavern, and rather than explain, Stan handed Ford the lantern without a word. Ford raised an eyebrow at him, then stepped into the cavern, sweeping the lantern in a wide arc that took in several glistening golden-brown pillars. Tree sap? He stepped closer to the nearest one to look closer, and-

-nearly dropped the lantern. He took a few steps back, mouth falling open.

“Stan.”

“Yeah?” Stan had another lantern, which he switched on and pointed at the golden pillar. There was a tyrannosaurus encased in the sap. A real one. A perfectly preserved one, which hadn’t decayed or been shifted into unusual positions over time. An entire, complete tyrannosaurus rex.

For some reason it had feathers. Ford wasn’t even  _ aware _ of taking out his journal to start making notes.

“I don’t wanna interrupt your quality time with Franco there,” Stan said after a few minutes, touching his elbow, “But I really think you want to take a look at the rest of this cavern.”

“Why?” Ford said, pulling away and moving toward another pillar at random. “Are there more artifacts preserved down here?”

“Oh… you could say that.”

-/-

“Dinosaurs!”

The four of them burst out into the clearing, bright and sunny and airy after the dark, damp, humid cave they’d been in. Stan had enjoyed watching Ford examine the cavern, but eventually he’d got tired of being underground and dragged him out into the sunlight. It was getting late anyway- the sun was just dipping down behind the trees, washing everything in golden-brown light.

Stan folded his arms, barely concealing his amusement. “Yep. Dinosaurs. Why have they got feathers?”

“I-” Ford broke off, then grinned harder. “I don’t know! There’s hypotheses, of course, but-” He couldn’t contain his glee. “Stanley, just imagine the value of what we’ve discovered- what  _ you’ve _ discovered!”

“Yep.” Stan nodded. “Gonna make a fortune off the rubes.”

“The-” Ford whipped around, stunned. “Stan, you can’t possibly be thinking of turning that- that- that  _ fountain of knowledge _ into a  _ tourist attraction _ .”

“And furniture,” Stan said. “Do you have any idea how much people will  _ pay _ to see those dinosaurs?”

“Do you have any idea what kind of knowledge can be gained from  _ studying _ them? The value to the scientific community-”

“D’you think the scientific community will compensate me half so well as the tourist community?”

“I- I don’t know. Maybe?”

“Anyway, you said if I found my own evidence of prehistoric life I could do what I want with it. You  _ promised _ .”

“Well, yes, but-” He trailed off. “-I wasn’t expecting… I thought fossils…”

“And you said whatever I find down there is mine to do with as I see fit.”

“I did say that, didn’t I?” He looked pained. “But… surely you understand what you have here? Don’t you?”

“Sure,” Stan said. “I’ve got dinosaurs. One of a kind tourist attraction.”

Ford sputtered. Stan decided to take pity on him and threw an arm around his shoulder, steering him back to the golf cart.

“Relax, Sixer. You can still study ‘em, and any other scientist who wants to. You just have to leave ‘em where they’re at, that’s all. And besides, wouldn’t you have  _ loved _ the chance to see something like this as a kid? Why should I lock it down so only you and your science buddies get to see it? Maybe my attraction will be the thing that sparks a kid into studying dinosaurology, you think of that?”

“Paleontology,” Ford corrected automatically. “The study of dinosaurs is paleontology. And I suppose if there’s still a chance to study them I can live with leaving them in place…”

“There, you see? We’ll make it work. Besides, I’ll make another fortune off of the scientists paying me to let them study the lot.”

“Of course, how could I have imagined otherwise,” Ford said, rolling his eyes, and, “Wait, did you say furniture? How in the world do you expect to turn one of those into a coffee table?”

“Eh, I’ll think of something.” He folded his arms and drummed the fingers of one hand against his forearm, thinking. “You think there’s more dinosaur stuff deeper in the caverns?”

“It’s possible. We’ll have to go exploring again tomorrow- we’ll bring proper spelunking equipment and see how far back the remains go. One thing I’m curious about though.”

“Yeah?”

“The mining rails broke off within that cavern. The miners would have been aware of those dinosaurs, as well as the plants. But I didn’t see any reference to them in those books you checked out. Did you?”

“Nope.”

“Did… did they not see the need to  _ mention _ them?”

“You think they thought it was normal?”

“They must have.” Ford tossed his hands up. “I swear, the biggest obstacle in studying the anomalies of this region is the people! Not because they’re so secretive, just because they don’t think anything is actually  _ strange _ ! Boyish Dan regularly wrestles manotaurs and Mrs. Cutebiker was complaining about gnomes getting into her kitchen. It wouldn’t surprise me if the miners of this town saw dinosaurs and just didn’t  _ notice _ \- they don’t notice anything else unusual!”

“Like six fingers?” Stan pointed out, and Ford froze. He looked down at his hands, and Stan wanted to kick himself, but Ford just let out a small ‘Huh’. “Ford?”

“You’re right,” he said. “Admittedly I was a bit of a hermit for my first six years here, but after you arrived I’ve spent more time in social settings. While there are those who have noticed my polydactyly, they’ve noticed less… intently than the people back home did. They seem more interested in my supposed status as a mad scientist than in any birth defect, even when they  _ do _ notice it.” He opened and closed his fist, and Stan saw a small smile tug at his lips. “No one treats me like a freak here. At least… not for the reasons I’m used to.”

“Sound like you managed to find that place you always wanted to find,” Stan said. “A place for people like you to fit in.” 

Ford had always said freaks when he made that wish, but Stan refused. His brother wasn’t a freak- anomalous, sure, he could go with that, though the way Ford said it so pointedly made him think it was just a prettier way for his brother to say freak anyway- and he was never going to call him that.

The kids had been running around the clearing playing during this conversation, and now Dipper called an anxious, “Papa! Come help!” Stan hurried over, Ford on his heels.

Once they reached the kids, they saw there wasn’t much room for concern. The twins had been playing on one of the felled logs from where Dan widened the clearing, and Dipper had gotten stuck in the sap on one of them. Stan could  _ feel _ his heartrate slowing back to normal as he realized this.

“Hang in there, kiddo,” he said. “I’m gonna come up and get you unstuck, okay? Mabel, sweetie, come down here, we don’t need you getting stuck too.”

Ford went over to help her climb down, while Stan hauled himself up onto the log. Then made the mistake of looking down, and immediately regretted it.

“Yikes,” he said, looking away and focusing on Dipper. He started edging forward. “Not doing that again. Okay, buddy, I’m coming for you. Just.. _hang_ tight.”

From the ground, Ford booed, but Dipper let out a nervous giggle. He was more scared than in any real danger, so Stan tried another one to keep him calm.

“Yeah, it’s always best to  _ stick around _ when you’re waiting for a rescue.” Dipper giggled again, and then Stan had reached the branch Dipper was stuck to, and lowered himself to straddle the log so he could unstick him. “Hey, Dip. Wanna get down now?”

Dipper nodded frantically, so Stan got to work prying him out of the sap, keeping up a steady litany of puns so he wouldn’t have a chance to panic, and once he’d managed to get him free he transferred the boy to his shoulders so they could climb down.

“Thanks for saving me, Papa,” Dipper said, once they were safe. He hugged Stan’s head from his position on his shoulders, and Stan reached behind him to awkwardly return the hug.

“Hey, don’t worry about it, champ. I’ll always be here to save ya’, that’s what Papas are for.”

“...that’s kinda sappy,” Dipper said quietly. There was a beat, and Ford buried his face in one palm while the twins giggled and a broad grin split Stan’s face.

“That’s my boy!” he said cheerily. He made to lift Dipper from his shoulders to set him down, and then his face fell. “...uh oh.”

“Stan?”

“We may need a spatula.”

-/-

Stan had gotten a new notebook. He sat staring at it on the table in front of him; he felt weird.

Here was the thing: in the past ten years, between laziness, homelessness, being locked up in various places and ways, and an increasingly criminal lifestyle, Stan had stopped writing things down. Writing things down was how you got  _ caught _ ; even something as insignificant as writing down that you bought a pack of gum could land you a stint in prison, at least as Stan understood it.

He’d bought the first notebook when he started taking care of Mabel, when he’d needed to keep track of his spending and his budget and all the little things that went into taking care of a small child. When he’d moved in with Ford and somehow so much of the care of the household and budget had fallen onto him that habit had only grown. His battered notebook was now a record of his income and spending over the past two and a half months, a record of groceries and errands and jobs he’d been hired for, of the orders they’d made for furniture, of all the little things he’d never realized went into running a household.

But that was… different. That was a household, that was a family, that was him and Ford and his kids, that was personal.

This notebook was for the tourist trap he was opening. It was going to be a record of his business expenses. And writing things down for a  _ business _ was a lot different than writing things down for a household. For one thing, he’d have to hand this all in during tax season next year, and he got the feeling Ford wasn’t going to let him cheat on his taxes like he’d done for Stan Co Enterprises. At least, not in ways that Ford would be able to detect.

Still, there was nothing for it. He picked up a pen and flipped open the cover, and wrote in the inside front “Mystery Shack Expenses”. Below that, he added, “May 1982”, and below that, under a space to write in the end-point later, he added “Stanley Pines,” and felt weird again. He hadn’t gone by his real name in years, not since he’d left New Jersey. But here it was, written down. A business, in his name.

“Stanley, have you seen- ah, there it is.” Stan snapped out of his thoughtful silence to see Ford leaning over him, grabbing up a pencil from the table. He had his journal in his other hand, open to a page about the dinosaur cavern. He’d been sketching again, and Stan took a moment to marvel at the level of skill his brother showed before the journal was moved out of his line of sight. Ford paused, and looked curiously at the notebook in front of Stan. “What are you doing?”

“Writing down my business expenses,” Stan said. “Gotta keep track or… something.”

Ford tilted his head slightly, the better to see. “Mystery Shack?”

“You like it? Everyone keeps referring to this place as the ‘mysterious shack in the woods’ and I managed to get a bunch of kids calling me Mr. Mystery, so it seemed appropriate.”

“Mystery Shack,” Ford repeated, testing out the idea. “Hmm.”

“You don’t like it?”

“I’m just… not sure what’s so mysterious. Didn’t you say these were going to be educational tours of the forest? Maybe you could call it something like… Cryptid Tours? Or, I don’t know, play off of the dinosaur attraction. Jurassic… Playground.”

“Jurassic Saphole?” Stan suggested, and earned an eyeroll in response. “I like Mystery Shack. It asks a question- and I intend people to have even more questions when they leave.”

Ford’s eyes lit up in understanding. “Ah, you mean questions like ‘why did dinosaurs have feathers’ and ‘why do gnomes like jam so much’?”

“Questions like ‘why is my wallet so empty, I had loads of money  _ before _ the tour’.” Stan grinned his conman grin. “I can’t wait till I can start carrying real overpriced souvenirs in the gift shop. Can’t afford much right now, but as soon as I start turning a profit it’s t-shirts and bumper stickers and those, like, you know, the hula girls you put on your dashboard, but with my face.”

“You’re going to put your face on a dashboard hula girl?”

Stan paused halfway to turning back to his notebook. Now  _ there _ was a mental image. He shook his head to dispel the imagine spot. “Nah, or maybe, I dunno. You think they’d sell?”

“You seem to think you can sell anything, so… maybe.”

“I  _ can _ sell anything.” Stan turned back around. “Selling people overpriced junk and making them think they got a deal is my specialty, it’s like the only thing I’m really good at. Why do you think I’m opening a tourist trap?”

“You’re good at lots of things,” Ford said automatically. He considered the rest of Stan’s statement for a moment, and added, “Isn’t that why you got banned from New Jersey?”

“Heh, yeah, I guess so.” Stan grinned. “But that’s my point! I literally  _ told _ everyone my product was a sham and they  _ still _ ate it up! I sold so many of those that there were enough people to get me  _ banned from the state _ !” He tapped his finger thoughtfully, and added, “How do you know about that?”

“It was in the newspaper. One of my classmates showed me, she thought I would find it funny.”

“Yeah? Did you?”

“I was annoyed more than anything,” Ford admitted. “I’d finally gotten the chance to forge my own identity, and already everyone knew me as ‘the twin of that guy who got ran out of the state’.” He sighed and rubbed tiredly at his eyes. “I was so angry with you after that, all over again. It was like even when we were apart you couldn’t stop defining who I was.”

“...Oh.” Stan stared down at his notebook. He suddenly felt about twenty types of rotten. “Hey uh. For what it’s worth- I don’t know if I can say this enough- I’m real sorry about that. And uh.” He licked his lips, swallowed heavily. “If you ever uh. If you ever start feeling suffocated again, all you gotta do is tell me. I won’t- I won’t let it get that far again, swear it. Just don’t- don’t leave me behind again, okay? Even if you need me to fuck off for a long time- even then- just call sometimes, or something. Okay?”

Ford took the seat beside his, leaned on his elbow and watched Stan thoughtfully. Stan refused to look up when he spoke.

“I don’t see that happening,” he said. “The truth is, however I try to spin it, at the end of the day… I was miserable without you. I felt like a part of me was missing, and I couldn’t fill that space no matter what I did. I enjoy my work, but that was the only thing that still made me feel content. And even then…” He reached over and touched Stan’s elbow gently, prompting Stan to finally look up. He gave his twin a small, reassuring smile. “...even then, there were moments of clarity where I wished you were here to share it with me.”

“Yeah?”

Ford nodded, and then brought his hand back to clasp both in front of him. He stared down at them, lost in thought. “I wish I had thought to call you sooner,” he said. “You would have seen…” He trailed off, then shook his head. “That’s not important. You’re here  _ now _ . That’s what matters- there’s not really any point in speculating about the past. It’s not like it can be changed.”

“Yeah, like I don’t believe you could invent time travel if you tried.” There was something there, Stan could see it. Something Ford wasn’t telling him. He mimicked Ford’s motion of a moment ago, and reached over to touch his twin’s elbow. “Hey. You know you can tell me anything, right?”

And Ford  _ definitely _ flinched ever-so-slightly at that before nodding and giving Stan his best assuring smile. “Yes, of course. I- I think I’m starting to realize that again.”

“Well, good. Cause if there’s anything bothering you, I’m here. I can help you take care of it- you know, provided the solution involves conning and/or punching.”

Ford chuckled. “I suspect any solution you get involved with will eventually become conning and/or punching by sheer force of will.”

“What can I say?” Stan leaned back in his chair and folded his hands behind his head, affecting a cocky smirk and side-eye. “I know how to play to my strengths.”

-/-

Ford had discovered that the routine of getting the twins ready for bed had helped his own sleep cycles- though he had yet to get a full night’s sleep, between exhausting himself out in the woods all day and the comforting routine of being with his family in the evenings, he was finding it easier and easier to get back to sleep after the interruptions. At night, one or the other of them would cook while the other sat at the table, working, the twins perched in their stools while they colored or played with their playdoh or did some form of arts and crafts, depending on their mood.

Ford wasn’t really working tonight. He’d been writing notes on a notepad, trying to work through some observations he’d made earlier, but he kept zoning out, staring off into space while he doodled absent shapes in the margins of his notes.

“That one looks like a hug,” Mabel said quite suddenly at his side. He startled back to reality and turned to see her clinging on the side of his chair to look. He must have really been out of it to not notice  _ that _ . He turned his attention to her.

“I’m sorry, honey, what was that?”

“That one,” Mabel said, pointing at an oval he’d drawn, carefully shaded into perspective. He blinked at it.

“I don’t follow.”

“It’s shaped like Papa,” Mabel explained, in a tone that implied this was obvious. Ford looked down at the oval, and then up at his brother, moving around the kitchen in a tank top and shorts that made his- yes, oval- shape more apparent. Ford brought his hand up to cover the smile threatening.

“Is that so,” he said, keeping his tone even. “You think your papa is shaped like an egg?”

Stan shot him a glare. “You got somethin’ to say, Poindexter?”

But Mabel was already interrupting. “No!” she said. “Papa is shaped like a  _ hug _ .” She looked over at Dipper. “Tell him.”

“It’s true,” Dipper agreed. “Papa is hug-shaped.”

Mabel gave Ford a look that clearly said ‘so there’, and climbed up into his lap. Ford gave her a bemused look.

“Did you need something?”

“No.”

“Oh. Well, all right then.”

-/-

Once they got the kids to bed, the brothers settled into the still-no-tv room, Stan with a magazine and Ford with a sketchpad. It was nice, quiet and cosy and relaxing, the silence occasionally broken by one or the other of them beginning a short conversation that would eventually fade into more comfortable silence.

“I had an idea,” Ford said. “What would you think of turning the attic room into a bedroom for the twins?”

Stan looked up from his magazine. “Isn’t that room packed with junk that you cleaned out of my room?”

“Well- yes. But I definitely need to go through all of it anyway. I need to find out if any of it can be sold or patented, since it doesn’t look like my grant will be renewed anytime soon.”

“It won’t?”

Ford sighed wistfully. “Yes. It seems I burned my bridges with the review board, and they’re not interested in funding my research anymore. Short of a miracle to convince them that Gravity Falls’ anomalous activity is a serious subject matter with conclusive results, they aren’t likely to renew my grant.”

“Wow. That sucks.” Stan frowned, and set his magazine aside. “But you got all those inventions and stuff, so you said you can patent ‘em, right? Fund your own research?”

“Yes, that’s what I was thinking. And I thought you might be relieved to no longer be our only source of income.”

“I-” Stan broke off, and snapped his mouth shut with an audible click. He opened it again to speak, and then closed it slowly, eyebrows climbing up to chat with his hairline, and, “Huh.”

Ford tilted his head. “You hadn’t noticed? You’ve been paying for everything since you got here.”

“I- I hadn’t-” Stan shook his head. “I was just trying not to be a freeloader. Tryin’ to pull my own weight.”

“Hmm.” Ford pursed his lips thoughtfully. “I’d say you’ve managed that fairly well thus far. But I still need to pay the mortgage on this house, and it will be some time before the Mystery Shack starts to turn a profit, and I would rather not use up the unicorn gold so quickly when we need it to live off of until it does. Besides, if I’m not careful  _ I’ll _ turn into a freeloader- it’s not fair to expect you to manage all of the income while I tramp around in the forest doing research.”

Stan waved that away. “Come on, Sixer, you’re letting me and my kids live here, the least I can do is help out.”

“And I appreciate that,” Ford said. “I’m not saying I want you to lie around all day doing nothing and  _ not _ contributing. I’m just saying that you’re already doing enough, and it’s time  _ I _ started contributing too. It’s time I accepted that my grant won’t be renewed- and while I still mean to try, that means that I have to try an alternative.” He frowned. “Do you  _ want _ to be our sole source of income?”

“No, I’m not sayin’  _ that _ .” Stan rubbed the back of his neck, trying to think how to explain what he meant. But even he wasn’t sure himself, and now that he’d started trying to voice his thoughts, it sounded wrong. He sighed. “I’m just… you’re so damn  _ happy _ out there in the forest. I know how much you love your work. And it’d be real nice if you could just keep doin’ it without having to worry about money. That’s all.”

Ford’s face softened. “Stanley…”

“Look, it’s just a stupid daydream, all right?” Stan looked away, suddenly embarrassed. “Forget I said anything.”

“Nope. I refuse.” Ford set his sketchpad aside and stood up, moving toward his brother with his arms held out. Stan looked at him like he’d lost his marbles.

“What are you doing…?”

“What does it look like? I’m hugging you.”

“Oh.” Stan had no idea why, but he certainly wasn’t going to complain. He stood and pulled Ford into his embrace, the two settling against each other as perfectly as they always had.

“You know, I think this is my favorite part of having you back,” Ford said.

Stan let out a weak laugh. “Ha ha, you love your brother.”

“So do you.”

“Well.” Stan squeezed harder. Couldn’t argue with that.

-/-

Once they’d finished hugging it out, the subject of moving the twins into the attic bedroom was revisited. Stan agreed, albeit reluctantly. He knew Ford was right about them needing their own space, and Stan his own as well, but he’d still gotten used to having them around, and he wasn’t sure what having them in another part of the house entirely was going to do for his peace of mind. What if something happened in the night? What if one of them couldn’t sleep? What if they had a nightmare? What if  _ Stan _ couldn’t sleep?

Honestly, it was that last one that got him to agree. He couldn’t keep the kids in his room just as a sleep aid. And it wasn’t as if they were moving out, just into a different room. A room that would be  _ their _ space, their space to put their own mark on. And he would have privacy again, something he’d had very little of since he’d gotten Mabel.

(“Hey!” Stan said, after it was settled. “I’ll be able to jack off at night again!”

Ford just stopped what he was doing and looked up at Stan with  _ the _ most unimpressed stare. “You are unbelievably crude,” he said. Stan just shrugged.)

So the next day, they put their spelunking on hold while they got started working on clearing out the attic. Stan was tasked with moving everything out of the actual attic bedroom, the one that would be the twins’, while Ford set to work in the main attic sorting through it. The twins contributed by running around in both rooms, stirring up dust and knocking things over and being very noisy and unhelpful.

At one point, they started rummaging through one of the shelves set against the wall, and then Dipper come over to Stan and tugged on his pant leg.

“Papa, look at this!” he said, holding up his new find. Stan looked down, and then almost dropped the box of old textbooks he was carrying.

It was a box- a wooden one, not the cardboard ones that held all of Ford’s junk. It was about the size of a shoebox, painted the grey-green color of the ocean before a storm, and on the top was a carefully carved outline of a sailing boat. It wasn’t anything special, but Stan had spent weeks admiring it in the pawn shop before it had vanished from the shelves, only to appear a few weeks later as his twelfth birthday present.

It was a treasure box. Ma had called it a keepsake box, but Stan thought that sounded sissy, so he’d called it a treasure box. The kind of box you put treasure in. As a kid his treasure had largely consisted of- baseball cards and bottlecaps and cool looking rocks- a picture of a sailboat he’d found in a magazine, a couple photos of him and Ford, a second place medal he’d won at a boxing tournament- a poem he’d written in English that had actually gotten an a, a snowglobe he’d gotten when they took a family trip to Maine one summer- junk, mostly, little things that had pleased him at the time, that he’d wanted to hold onto. When Pa had thrown him out, he’d thought nothing of the box tucked away under his bed, and by the time he thought about it again weeks later, he assumed that Pa had gotten rid of everything of his and it was probably lost forever.

He’d thought no more about it since then. What did it matter, the things his teenage self had thought were treasures?

“Stan, what are you-” Ford came through the door, and then stopped when he saw the box. “Oh.”

“You kept this?” Stan wasn’t sure what he was feeling, how he was supposed to define the painful tightening in his chest. Ford looked embarrassed.

“I- well- yes.” He rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly. “It’s just- not long after… everything… Pa wanted me to clean all your things out of our room. He said that- well, it doesn’t matter what he said. But I couldn’t let everything of you be lost, so I saved what I could. It’s in there. I know it’s not much, but…”

Suddenly Stan wanted to know what Ford had managed to save. He flipped the box open.

The stuff he remembered being there was still there. There was more stuff he hadn’t remembered being there, like a hair scrunchy Carla had left at his house once, and a wristband from a county fair, but there were also…

“...postcards?” Very familiar postcards. Stan picked one up at random, and the words in his own handwriting jumped out at him.

_ Hey bro, just got to Pennsylvania! You’d like it here, everyone is really boring _ .

_ Decided to stop in Virginia for awhile. There’s mountains everywhere around here. _

_ Greetings from Georgia! These people really like their peanuts down here. _

_ I just wrestled a gator. Florida is great! _

Postcards. Postcards from all over the country, all from him, all featuring some cheery lie about how well he was doing. He’d almost forgotten sending them- he’d stopped just before his third prison stint, when he didn’t feel he had it in him to lie anymore about how great his life was doing.

He wasn’t sure, even now, why he’d sent them. Spite, mostly. Wanting Ford to know he wasn’t the only one doing just fine on his own. Hoping Ford got the same bitter, burning feeling in the back of his throat when he remembered they weren’t together.

“Can’t believe you kept these,” he said quietly.

“They were all the communication I had,” Ford said. “Even if they made me angry, it was all I had to go on to know that you were fine.”

“...I wasn’t fine,” Stan said softly. “All of these postcards are a pack of lies.”

“Yes, I’d gathered that after you started talking about prison,” Ford said dryly. “Why did you lie?”

“I dunno. Wanted you to think I was fine without ya, I guess.” 

Which, looking back, was pretty dumb. It was thinking Stan was fine that had given Ford the space to stay angry at him for a decade. If at any point he’d sent him a postcard saying something like  _ I’m sorry, and everything’s awful, and I miss you _ \- just told the truth- then maybe Ford would have let go and called him back.

On the other hand… he wouldn’t have met Marilyn if that had happened. And he wouldn’t have Mabel and Dipper, and no amount of getting his brother back sooner was worth the price of admission that came from not having those two. Maybe it was impossible to miss something you’d never have, but he was sure that in any other timeline, he would miss their presence regardless of whether he knew them or not.

He looked down at the box, at all the reminders that his teenage years hadn’t been as awful as bitter hindsight had made them out to be, and then back up at Ford. “Can I have this?”

“Of course,” Ford said. “It’s already yours, I was just keeping it. I do want the postcards, though.”

That was fine, Stan didn’t want them anyway. Couldn’t imagine why Ford would, given they were a pack of lies, but whatever. He fished them all out and passed them over, and then turned to rummaging through the rest of the box.

There was a tug on his arm. He looked down to see Dipper trying to pull his hands down so he could look at the box, so Stan sat down beside him.

“You wanna see my treasures from when I was a kid?” Dipper nodded. “All right.” He reached into the box and took out an item at random. It was an piece of fool's gold he’d found in their beach cave, when they’d taken turns seeing who could dive all the way to the bottom of the safe cove they’d found down there. He’d thought it was real, and been disappointed when Ford explained it was just Pyrite, but he'd kept it anyway. He held it up for Dipper- and Mabel, who’d come over to join them- and started telling them about finding it.

He felt rather than saw Ford sit down next to him, one hand resting lightly over his shoulder while he answered the twins’ questions about the fossil, and corrected Stan’s story when he felt his brother was embellishing a bit too much.

-/-

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know the dinosaurs in canon didn't have feathers but I decided to use my arbitrary author powers to make these ones do. I also have no idea how soon people started saying "hmm maybe dinosaurs have feathers" but I'm sure SOMEONE was speculating about it by 1982.
> 
> (Yeah yeah I know Google is free. Y'all have no idea how many things I've had to google for this fic already to double-check the timeline, I didn't feel like googling this one.)


	10. The One Where It's Their Birthday

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Once, during their first year of college, Fiddleford found out it was Ford's birthday and dragged him out to celebrate. Ford had been adamant that he had no intention of celebrating anything, and had been a downer for the whole night. It was the only time he'd ever celebrated his birthday without Stan, and he'd hated every moment of it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And then I still managed to get it out only a few hours behind schedule~ Sorry for the delay, folks, but I took the weekend off to work on a different project (which should be ready to start posting by the time this fic ends, tease tease tease~) and then when I went to check on the new chapter I realized it was awful and convoluted and made no sense. So I basically had to rip out two days of writing, including the end of this chapter, and start over. That was fun :D
> 
> Anyway, the next chapter will be delayed as well, because I had to kill my buffer for the rewrite and work is eating up my writing schedule.

-/-

The week that followed was a long one, and a busy one. Along with getting the attic ready for the twins to move into, and going through Ford’s inventions to decide which ones would make viable patents, they were also getting the Stan-o-War II built, and exploring the caverns beyond the main one. And on top of that, Stan was still doing odd jobs all over town.

The main caverns were the only ones with such perfect samples in them. While they found more prehistoric artifacts in the caverns beyond, these were more along the lines of fossils, some of them preserved in sap and some jutting out of the cave walls in a way that came straight out of a cartoon or a comic book drawn by someone with absolutely no understanding of how fossils worked.

Stan finally got his coffee table from one of these: a pterodactyl skull, perfectly intact and just the right size to set some glasses or a magazine on, or use as a footrest or an extra seat in the event the rest of their seats were taken. A conversational centerpiece for their living room.

They got Dan to help them dig it out and take it home to set up in the living room. Ford wandered off while this was going on. He couldn’t watch such a beautifully preserved specimen be turned into furniture so casually, no matter what foolish promises he’d made.

“Is he gonna be okay?” Dan asked, watching Ford walk away, keening slightly.

“He’s got something against using fossils as furniture,” Stan said. “Cause they’re so rare and valuable for research.”

“They’re just fossils.”

Stan shrugged. Honestly, he could see where Ford was coming from, at least somewhat, but there were so many fossils and Stan had no problem with him studying them in the caverns and even removing some of them as long as the big sap pillars stayed put, he didn’t see why there was a problem with him using just this one as a coffee table. Besides, now it would be in the house, where Ford could look at it to his heart’s content. So what was the problem?

“Eh, I’ll talk to him later, see if I can cheer ‘im up.”

-/-

They got the skull set up in the not-actually-a-tv room, and Dan left while Stan went looking for his brother. He found Ford in the attic, digging through a box of junk and muttering to himself. He tapped lightly on the door to alert Ford of his presence, and then leaned against it as casually as he could when Ford startled and looked around at him.

“You okay, bro?”

“I’m fine.” Ford looked down at the box he’d been rummaging through, and stood to return it to the shelf. “I was looking for… something…”

“Are you sure? Cause you left pretty suddenly back there and now you’re in the attic muttering to yourself.”

“I am not- I mean, I was muttering, but I was just talking to myself while I searched. Not…  _ muttering _ .”

“Yeah,  _ right _ .” Stan folded his arms. “What’s bugging you? Is it the fossil?”

“I just don’t think you understand what you’re  _ doing _ !” he burst out, hands held out in an almost pleading gesture. He pulled his hands back to his chest. “I mean- it’s fine, it’s nothing. It doesn’t matter. I promised. It’s fine.”

“What?” Stan straightened, suddenly concerned. He moved closer, carefully, like he was approaching a skittish animal. “What do you mean?”

“I- it’s nothing.” He was fidgeting at his fingers now, and Stan was near enough that he reached out, covering Ford’s hands and pulling them apart.

“Try again, without the bullshit.”

“...I don’t want my nerdy pursuits to kill another of your dreams,” he finally said quietly, refusing to look Stan in the eye. Stan’s eyebrows went up.

“Are you fucking kidding me?”

“Of course I’m not!” He pulled his hands free and rubbed at his temples, turned away, stepped away. “Stan, I already ruined your life once because I cared more about what I wanted than you, and I just got you  _ back _ and everything is  _ fine _ now and I didn’t want to- to ruin that again.”

“Apparently everything’s  _ not _ fine if you think you can’t even tell me if something’s  _ bothering you _ . Come on, Stanford. You really think we’re so fragile we can fall apart just cause you don’t like my taste in furniture?”

“You mean you don’t?”

“Are you kidding?” Stan spread his hands wide, encompassing the room and by extension the house and the yard and the land and everything, everything. “We managed to come back from ruining our lives so badly that I’ve been banned from half the country and you nearly destroyed the world. If me breaking your nerdy machine and keeping you out of your dream school wasn’t enough to shatter us completely, why would you saying ‘but Stan I really hate your taste in furniture’ do it?” His face suddenly crumpled, his hands dropped to his sides. “Unless you think I’d care more about that than your feelings? I- I know I haven’t always shown it- but I- I really do want you to do all this nerdy stuff, you know. I’m really proud of you. I wouldn’t interfere, I- I learned my lesson already, okay?”

“I- no, that’s not what I mean.” Ford was pulling at his fingers again. Stan wanted to go over and separate them again, but his feet didn’t seem to want to move. How could Ford think he’d still want to interfere with his nerdy research stuff? “But- we were going to sail off looking for adventure. Treasure hunting. We spent years planning it and I just- walked away from it. The thing you wanted most and I tore it away from you like it meant nothing.”

“Oh, I see.”  _ The thing you wanted most _ … did Ford really think that?

“You do?”

“Yeah. You’ve gotten a bit mixed up about the where the problem was. You think I was mad because you didn’t want to go treasure hunting with me anymore.”

Ford’s eyebrows furrowed. “Weren’t you?”

“Well, yes. But that wasn’t the important part. The treasure hunting wasn’t the part that mattered.” He rubbed the back of his neck. It was his turn to look away. “Look, I understand  _ now _ , about how you just needed space, and I get it, but at the time… all I cared about was that you were going to leave me behind. That you thought I was just some dead weight holding you back. And I- you know, you were all I really had and I… I didn’t want you to leave me behind.”

Ford’s eyes widened, as if something had just dawned on him. “ _ It was never about the treasure hunting. _ ”

“No. I mean, yeah, I really wanted to do that- it was my dream- but the important part was… having you with me. You wanting me around. That was the thing I wanted most.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah." Stan rubbed sheepishly at his neck. "So with that in mind, try telling me what’s bothering you. I’m not going to just walk out and give up on us. Nothing about it could be so bad that it’ll drive us apart. At least, not on my end.”

Ford nodded, then took a breath and, “I don’t think you truly understand the value of the fossils, you’re just turning it into a coffee table like it’s nothing. Don’t you know how much could be learned from it?”

“I mean, not really.” Stan shrugged. “It’s just some old bones. Museums have ‘em up all the time, what’s the difference?”

“They don’t, though. Museums use replicas of the fossils, because the fossils themselves could be too easily damaged and that would significantly reduce our chance to learn from them. And in-tact fossils like the ones you found are  _ rare _ . Geologic shifts move the bones around while they fossilize, weathering damages them, burrowing creatures might harm them- there’s all manner of things that can happen in the countless millennia in between the creature’s death and their later discovery and an entirely intact skeleton can become a game changer. A lot of paleontology is guess-work and filling in the gaps because of this. An intact fossil has fewer gaps to fill.”

“Oh.” Stan hadn’t realized any of  _ that _ . He’d assumed Ford could look at the fossils as easily in one location as another. “But, I mean, the mines are crawling with fossils.”

“And you’ve said you’ll allow research to be done and even some removal, which I appreciate. I don’t even mind that the majority have to be left in the caverns because I know they’ll be well-cared for, if only because you need them in good condition to turn a profit. But more data points is more information, and a fossilized skull could be damaged so easily while acting as a coffee table. I just.” He clenched his fist and made a frustrated noise. “I just  _ really _ hate the thought of valuable data points being lost to something so… unnecessary.”

“You didn’t tell me all of that.”

“I didn’t want to…”

“Ruin my dream, yeah, I got that. You’re an idiot, Poindexter.” Stan threw an arm around his shoulder and steered him to the door. “Come on, let’s go see if the library has any books on making fossil replicas. But if I’m making replicas of any of my fossils, I’m making one of that t-rex skull too. That’s the one I wanted to begin with anyway.”

“I’m pretty sure I suggested a replica once already.”

“No, you suggested a fake. A genuine replica like they use in museums is almost as good as the real thing.”

“I will  _ never _ understand your reasoning, Stanley.”

-/-

The Stan O War II was much quicker to build than the original had been, in part because they knew what they were doing already and had all of the materials available to them- more of Stan’s expert haggling skills- and in part because a small fishing boat just takes far less time to build than a sailing ship meant to weather the open ocean. They devoted a few afternoons to it a week, and by the time fishing season opened in June, she was ready for her maiden voyage.

It was a beautiful sunny day, a perfect day for fishing, and it looked like the whole town was there, some already out on the water. Stan left Ford to double-check the boat one last time and turned his attention to helping the kids into their life vests. They looked adorably ridiculous once he’d got them into them.

“Why do we gotta wear these, Papa?” Dipper asked, trying to wiggle his down a bit.

“So if you fall out of the boat you don’t drown,” Stan explained. “Look, me and Uncle Ford are wearing them too, see?”

They both grumbled, trying to adjust them comfortably. Mabel sighed. “If we  _ promise _ not to fall out of the boat, can we take them off?”

“That’s not a promise you can reliably make, honey. Hang on, maybe these’ll make ya feel better.” He reached into his fishing vest and took out two toddler-sized fishing hats, which he plonked onto their heads.

They took the hats off and looked at them. He’d stayed up late last night sewing their names into the fronts in colored scraps of fabric.

“That’s hand-stitching,” he said, a touch of nervousness in his tone. “Y-you like ‘em? They’ve got your names on ‘em.”

They nodded vigorously and put the hats on. “Still don’ wanna wear the funny jackets though,” Mabel added. Stan snorted and pulled her over to noogie her.

“Yeah, well that’s a sacrifice I’m willing to make.”

He was still rough-housing with the kids a couple minutes later when Ford rejoined them, having declared the Stan O War II fit for service.

“Nice fishing hats,” he said, looking down at the twins, who were sitting on Stan to hold him down. Stan laughed and sat up, grabbing the kids around the middle to keep them from tumbling to the ground.

“I knew you’d say that,” he said. “That’s why I made  _ this _ .” He reached into his vest again and pulled out another hat, this one with ‘Sixer’ written across it in the same carefully stitched on scraps. Ford took it from him slowly.

“Ah. So you did.”

“Don’t worry, I got one too.” One more venture into his vest produced the final hat, with ‘Stan’ stitched onto this one. This hat was older, more battered, and some of the stitches had come loose. “Pines family fishing hats! Whaddya think?”

“I think-” Ford looked down at the hat, then set it on his head. “-I think if we don’t go soon, all of the fish will be taken.”

“Pretty sure it doesn’t work like that, but I’m not complaining.” They headed over to the boat, and Stan fished a bottle of Pitt cola out of the cooler. He offered it to Ford. “Wanna do the honors?”

“Traditionally the christening is done by a lady,” Ford said. He knelt beside Mabel. “Would you like to break this on the boat’s hull, Mabel?”

Of course she did. What three-year-old was going to turn up their nose at the chance to break something? They showed her how, and she hauled back with the bottle and flung it as hard as she could at the boat. It didn’t break, which was unfortunate if expected, but it did shatter when it landed on the gravel below, so they decided to count it as a success.

“That’s quite the arm you’ve got there, Mabel,” Ford said, holding out a hand to help her, then Dipper, into the boat. Mabel beamed, and then Stan and Ford together pushed the boat into the lake, where she bobbed in the water, waiting for her pilots, who hauled themselves in mere seconds later and began pushing away from the shore, rowing until they were deep enough to gun the motor.

“Have either of you two ever been fishing before?” Stan asked, while Ford steered the boat carefully to a spot Tyler had told them about, one of many good spots that he and his dad had found. The twins considered this for a minute.

“Um, I think Grampa took us sometimes?” Dipper said, a question more than anything. “M’ not sure though.”

The brothers shared a glance. It was the first mention the kids had made of a grandfather, and it had never occurred to Stan that the kids must have had a family beyond just their mother before being brought to live with him. He found himself hating Marilyn all over again. As much as he couldn’t imagine living without his kids, she had ripped them away from their family just because she didn’t want to be a mother anymore. But they’d had a grandfather, one who’d loved them enough to take them fishing even.

“You uh. You kids remember your Grampa that much?”

They exchanged looks, and shook their head. Dipper frowned, and, “He… went away? For forever and ever. That’s what our grunkle said.”

“Grunkle?” Ford glanced over at Stan, who shrugged.

“Mama’s uncles,” Mabel said. “Like Uncle Ford.”

“Gr… oh, I see, your great uncles.” Mabel looked up at him with a face that said, very clearly, ‘yes, that’s what I just said’. Stan shook his head. “So your Grampa went away forever, huh? I’m sorry to hear that.”

The kids looked unbothered by this- unsurprising. Mabel had not long since turned three when Stan got her, so it was impressive that she remembered having a grandfather at all, and great uncles as well. Was that why Marilyn had given them up? Had her father done all the work child-rearing, and with him no longer around, she wanted no part of it?

Ford stopped the boat. “Here we are. According to Tyler, this is the best spot to fish from this time of day.”

Stan was tired of thinking about his ex-in-laws. He grabbed his fishing pole. “I’ll be the judge of that. You kids wanna see me thread a hook with my eyes closed?”

The kids cheered, while Ford reached under his seat for the first aid kit. Stan had tried this trick for years, and always-  _ always _ \- managed to injure himself in some creative new way.

-/-

Things finally settled down a bit early in June. They were still busy, but things had calmed so that their days weren’t so packed. Ford was able to get back to his excursions into the woods, Stan was able to get back fulltime to his work as the town’s oddjob man, and the kids went back to spending their mornings at Mrs. Ramirez’s house. Now that school was out, her house was a little more busy than before, but she assured them that she had no trouble watching the kids for them still.

Besides, Fina was around now, and she didn’t mind helping watch them. Since the kids absolutely adored her, this worked in their favor.

Halfway through June, Stan was woken painfully early by the phone ringing. He groaned and shoved his head under his pillow, hoping Ford would get up and answer it or whoever it was would give up. After awhile, though, it became apparent that neither was going to happen, so he stumbled irritably out of bed and down the hall to the really-need-to-get-that-tv room. He thumped Ford’s bedroom door on his way by, just to drive his annoyance home.

“Pines residence.”

“Good morning, Stanley!”

“Ma?” Stan groaned. “Do you have any idea how early it is here?”

“It’s eight o’clock, you should already be out of bed.”

“Nope, too early.” He rubbed tiredly at his eyes and looked around. Normally the kids were getting up right about now. “Did you need something? Something that couldn’t wait till later?”

“Don’t take that tone with me, young man. I’m still your mother.”

“Sorry Ma.” Stan rubbed his eyes. “Seriously though, is something up?”

“What, I can’t call my sons just to wish them happy birthday?”

“Happy… what?” Stan frowned, and then turned to squint at the calendar on the wall. Oh. June fifteenth. Whaddya know.

“Did you forget your own birthday?”

“I ain’t exactly felt like celebrating in the past few years.” He yawned. God it was still so  _ early _ .

“Of course you haven’t,” Ma said gently. “Twins are supposed to be together for their birthdays.”

“Something like that.” 

He was more awake, now. He glanced in the direction of Ford’s room, wondering if Ford knew it was their birthday. He should go wake him up, see if he wanted to go do something. Maybe go fishing again, or go explore the caves behind the falls. Or maybe just go out for lunch and to see a movie- he’d heard there was a new Vampire Mummy Werewolf movie coming out, Ford would probably really enjoy that, right?

“Stanley?”

Stan realized he’d drifted off, and snapped his attention back to the call. “Sorry Ma, spaced out there. You were saying?”

“I was just asking if Ford was around, so I could tell him happy birthday too.”

“Oh, uh.” Normally Ford was up by now, but if he wasn’t around the house then he had likely gone off early on his excursions. Stan shrugged, even though his mother couldn’t see him. “If he’s not already gone, he’ll be in his room. I’ll go check.”

He set her down and headed over to knock on Ford’s door. There was no answer, and when he opened it to peek the room was empty. He headed back to grab the phone.

“Sorry Ma, he must have already taken off for the day.”

“Oh, phooey. Well, I guess I’ll have to try again later. You give those grandkids of mine a lot of smooches for me, okay?”

“Sure, Ma. And thanks for calling. It’ll be nice to actually celebrate my birthday again.”

Once he and Ma had hung up, he headed upstairs to wake the kids up. Maybe they could help him make some kind of surprise for Ford for when he got back. At least they could make a cake. He had cake mixes in the house, right? Well, if he didn’t, they could always go into town and he could get Ford a real gift while he was there. Maybe he’d even actually pay for it, since Ford seemed to have some kind of weird objection to Stan stealing things.

These thoughts trailed Stan up to the attic bedroom, and came to a screeching halt when he pushed the door open to find his kids’ beds empty, and his kids nowhere to be seen.

_ Shit _ .

Stan flew down the stairs in a panic, checking every single door in the house (why was Ford’s house so fucking BIG) and finding no sign of his kids or his brother or an explanation. Had something happened to them? Had they been kidnapped? He still had enemies out there, what if Rico had found him? What if the Lozanos had found him? What if-

He burst out the back door, mind racing through his long list of enemies and which ones could have tracked him to Gravity Falls, and then stopped. The Stanleymobile was gone. He took a few steps back through the door, and yes, the spare key that he kept hanging by the door was  _ also _ gone. That meant that, probably, Ford was the one who had taken it.

Heart still pounding, Stan forced himself to walk calmly back into the house and to the kitchen, where a quick look around turned up a note on the table that he hadn’t seen before, written in Ford’s loopy script and held down by the ceramic goat Stan had ‘bought’ at the swap meet because… well because he liked it, really, he didn’t have any other reason. It was a ceramic goat. What wasn’t there to like?

_ Stan, _

_ Had to run an errand, and I took the kids with me. We’ll be back in time for breakfast. _

_ Ford. _

Well, that answered that. Stan sat heavily in the nearest chair and willed his heartbeat back down to normal. He wished Ford had put the note somewhere he’d spot it more easily, but Stan generally wandered into the kitchen and started breakfast before waking the kids (when they didn’t wake themselves), so he would have assumed Stan would find it then. It wasn’t his fault Ma had called so early.

There, it all made perfect sense, and no one ever had to know that Stan had nearly had a heart attack because he’d found his kids’ beds empty and hadn’t thought to assume his also-missing brother and housemate had taken them out.

Stan looked at the note again. No mention of what Ford was up to, but given the day it wasn’t hard to guess. Well, he wouldn’t come home to find Stan empty handed. Stan got up and began rummaging around in the cabinets. He had to have some cake mix in here  _ somewhere _ . It wasn’t much of a gift, but on such short notice, he could at least let his twin come home to his favorite breakfast and a cake on their first birthday together in a decade.

-/-

“Uncle Ford, it’s so  _ early _ ,” Dipper whined, trailing along through the mall, hand bunched in Ford’s pant-leg.

From his other side, clinging to his other pant leg, Mabel nodded her agreement. “Why’d we hafta skip breakfast? I’m hungry.”

“Do either of you know what day it is?”

“Tuesday?” Dipper mumbled, and Mabel cheered, “Mazel tov!”

Ford chuckled. He had the cutest niece and nephew in the world. But, “No. Well, yes, it is Tuesday. It’s very impressive for you to know that. It’s also June fifteenth, which is my and your Papa’s birthday.”

“Whoah!” Mabel’s hold on him tightened, while Dipper frowned.

“He didn’t tell us.”

“He probably forgot,” Ford said. He certainly had, until he’d gotten up that morning and gone to write down the date in his journal and realized it himself. It wasn’t like he’d had much reason to celebrate over the years, when his birthday was just a reminder of how miserable he’d tried to convince himself he wasn’t. Most years he ignored his birthday and hoped it would go away, and he had no doubt that Stan had done the same.

“How could he forget?” Mabel asked. “I remember our birthday. It’s August, um, August…” She trailed off, frowning. “Um… it’s in August.”

“It’s August second,” Ford supplied helpfully.

“Right! August second!”

“It’s only a couple months away. Are you excited? You kids will be four.”

“Four is more than three, right?” Dipper asked.

“That’s right. It’s a  _ lot _ more than three, when you take into account just how much your bodies grow and change at this early stage of your life.”

“How many are you and Papa?”

“We’re twenty-nine today.”

“Is that a lot?”

“It’s…” Ford considered. He felt like he was in his prime, and simultaneously ancient. The past year had been rough on him. Of course, for a couple of nearly four-year-olds who couldn’t count well yet, twenty-nine wasn’t that different than a hundred, when it came down to it. “It’s nearly ten times as many as yours.”

“Whooooah.” The twins looked suitably impressed, for all that he wasn’t sure they truly understood what ‘ten times as many’ even meant. He held out his hands for them.

“That’s right. And since it’s been a long time since we got to spend our birthday together, I thought I’d get your Papa something nice.” And he knew just the thing, too. He’d seen it in the window of one of the stores in the mall a few weeks ago, but not thought much about it since, beyond a thought that Stan would have liked it. Now he took the twins in that direction, and hoped it’d still be there.

-/-

Stan had managed to dig out a box of cake mix, and while he mixed the batter it occurred to him that he hadn’t gotten Ford anything. He could probably get away with going and getting something later, but he’d feel foolish if Ford came home handing him a gift when he’d gone out early to get one himself. He chewed on his lip while he considered this, still stirring batter.

By the time he got the cake in the oven, he had a plan. He grabbed the phone and dialed the Cutebikers- they were the closest neighbors besides Dan, and Mrs. Cutebiker was more qualified than Dan for what Stan needed.

“Hi, Lila,” Stan said, when Mrs. Cutebiker answered. “Listen, I know this is short notice, but can I get you to do me a favor? It’s mine and Ford’s birthday and it completely slipped my mind, so I don’t have a birthday present for him and I can’t leave the house since I just shoved a cake in the oven and his note said he’d be back by breakfast and I wanna have it ready- oh, you can help? You don’t even know… oh, okay. Oh. Yeah, that’s- thanks, Lila, you’re a peach. I’ll see you in ten.”

He hung up and went to check the cake, pacing anxiously while he waited for his neighbor to arrive. She’d offered to stay and finish the cake for him, which meant he’d have time to go into town and get-

-shit, Ford had taken the Stanleymobile, hadn’t he? Stan grumbled irritably to himself. They hadn’t needed more than one vehicle thus far- when he’d asked, Ford had groused about someone named ‘Steve’ destroying his old car, and never bothering to replace it- but if Stan had anything to say about it, Ford would be getting his own car after this.

He wished he still had his motorcycle. He’d never liked it as much as the Stanleymobile- well, she was his lady, so that made sense- but it would be useful right now. Why’d he sold it, anyway?

...oh yeah. Right. Well… Stan sighed. Never mind.

-/-

When Ford pulled up back at the house, he was surprised to see Stan pulling up as well in the golf cart. While Ford got the kids out, and the carefully wrapped package containing his own gift, Stan bolted into the house, a shopping bag held in one hand. By the time Ford and the kids actually went into the house, Stan was looking less frantic. The house smelled like waffles- the good kind, not the slightly overdone ones that Stan cooked- and cake, and Stan and Tyler were in the kitchen, Tyler’s mother nowhere in sight.

“Morning, bro-bro,” Stan said. “Happy birthday.”

“To you as well,” Ford said, while the twins ran forward to hurl themselves at him, shouting their own birthday wishes. Ford nodded toward the table. “What’s all this?”

Stan rubbed the back of his neck. “It’s waffles,” he said, which was obvious. “I thought it might be nice to revive an old birthday tradition. They ain’t exactly like Ma used to make, but Lila made ‘em, not me, so they’re definitely better than we’re used to.”

“Mama makes good waffles,” Tyler assured them. He was perched on one of the chairs, legs swinging happily while he drew on a sheet of construction paper.

Well, that explained why the Cutebikers were here. Or, presumably both of them were, though Ford had yet to see Lila anywhere.

“Where is your mother, Tyler?”

“She’s wrapping Mr. Pines’s present for you because men are useless,” Tyler said dutifully. He set his marker down and held up the construction paper he’d been drawing on. “Have you got scissors? Mama says it’s important to treat twins like individuals but I only got one piece of paper so I need to cut it.”

Ford wasn’t entirely sure what one thing had to do with another, but he fished the safety scissors out of the drawer and passed them over anyway. Tyler murmured his thanks and got to work cutting oh-so-carefully down the middle of the paper. Then he handed them back, folded each half of the paper down the middle and handed one to each twin. Oh, that was what he meant.

It was a birthday card, drawn with all the care a ten-year-old could muster.

The fact he’d made them separate cards, explicitly to treat them as individuals, was touching. While it certainly didn’t feel suffocating the way it once had, Ford still got annoyed sometimes that in town they were addressed collectively more often than not.

“Thank you,” he said. “I appreciate both the effort and the thought.”

Tyler beamed, while his mother returned with a kind of large package wrapped in brown paper. Stan hugged her and called her a lifesaver, and then invited her and Tyler to stay for breakfast, since she’d been kind enough to help him out on such short notice. And so their first birthday together since- as adults- was off to a good start.

-/-

After breakfast they opened presents. Ford had gotten Stan a ship in a bottle, a beautiful four-master carefully tucked away in its glass home. Stan loved it; he ended up spending ten minutes explaining to the children about the ship in question. Ford buried a smile behind one hand, but didn’t bother to hide how pleased he was that Stan had appreciated his gift.

He was even more pleased to know that Stan could still ramble at length about boats, something he’d done extensively in their youth but had stopped doing so much as they neared the end of high school. It was nice to know that was still in there.

Once they finally got Stan to stop talking about boats, Ford opened his gift, a new DD&MoreD boxset. He wasn’t able to contain his enthusiasm; he hadn’t had anyone to play with since college, and his old set had long since been scattered to the winds since coming to Gravity Falls. He even- somehow- convinced them to play a round- even Stan, who’d always refused to play when they were kids. He got Dipper to be on his team, but Mabel wanted to be with Uncle Ford, since he had prettier dice (those, at least, he’d managed to keep track of).

By the time they were done, it was late afternoon, and they’d skipped lunch; after bidding the Cutebikers goodbye they headed into town to the Diner, where Stan immediately told Susan it was his birthday and then whispered something to her that made her blush and swat him away with a wink. Whatever it was, it wasn’t bad enough to stop her bringing them a whole pie on the house as a birthday gift, so Ford decided not to question it.

Once they’d finished lunch, it was still daylight- that was the great thing about being born so close to the solstice, days lasted a long time at this end of the year- so they drove up to the lake, vague thoughts of some late evening fishing on the dock in mind.

-/-

The kids weren’t really interested in fishing, so they played on the lawn between the dock and the baitshop while Stan and Ford fished, both brothers keeping a watchful eye on them from their seat on the docks. Stan was sort of aware of Ford dozing off beside him, but given that Ford had a habit of staying up late to work (not that Stan had any room to talk), Stan wasn’t surprised. He said nothing, his general policy being that if Ford was sleeping, it was because he needed sleep.

While he watched the kids and waiting for a fish to bite his hook, he saw Dipper wandering off to the trees. He set his pole aside.

“Hey, watch my pole, Sixer, I gotta go grab Dipper.”

He didn’t bother waiting to see if Ford responded, and half-jogged out to the treeline, where Dipper was talking animatedly to one of the trees. Weird kid.

“Dipper!” He called as he approached. “Don’t run off, buddy, come on. You need to stay at the dock.” As he neared, Dipper reached up for him and was immediately scooped up. He looked at the tree Dipper had been standing near. “Who are you talking to, kiddo?”

“My grunkle,” Dipper said, laying his head on Stan’s shoulder.

“Your grunkle?” Stan looked around, a sudden panic welling in his chest. Had Marilyn’s family come looking for the kids? But he didn’t see anyone besides himself and Dipper over here. He frowned. “Well, uh… don’t run off, okay? Even to talk to your… grunkle.”

“Sorry, Papa.”

Back at the dock, Stan set Dipper back down with Mabel and headed back along the dock to where he’d left Ford. It was getting late- the stars were starting to come out- and it would be time to get the kids to bed soon. He hated waking his brother, but he could sleep in his bed better anyway. He reached over to shake his shoulder.

“Hey, Sixer, wake up. We gotta head home.”

For a long moment, Ford didn’t move, and Stan shook him again, only to have him yank his shoulder out of Stan’s grasp and turn to grin up at him. His face looked deranged, stretched into a too-wide grin, and his eyes had changed- they were yellow, the pupils stretched into reptilian slits. Stan took a step back while Ford climbed slowly to his feet.

“One two three four five,” Ford stalked toward him, somehow managing to loom despite both brothers being the same height. His unnatural grin stretched wider. “I caught a  _ Goldfish _ alive.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey I hope you guys have been enjoying that false sense of security for the last several chapters. :D
> 
> We're in the final stretch now, folks. Everyone hold on to your hats.


	11. The One Where Everything Goes To Shit

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The kids had come to Stan at a time when he needed them most. It had never occurred to him that perhaps that worked the other way around, too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content warnings for this chapter only for blood and mild but graphic violence.

-/-

_ It wasn’t often that Shermie volunteered to spend time with his kid brothers. At twelve, he felt he was far too old to hang around with a couple of kindergartners. However, there were rare moments of affection that he would take them out for the day- usually fishing, as they had done today. _

_ It had been a good day. They’d spent the day fishing off the docks, their only catch a single, small fish that Stanley had managed to reel in. He was carrying it proudly now while the three boys walked home. He was so happy that without warning, he burst into song, a song about fish that he and Stanford had learned in school for counting on their fingers. _

_ “One-two-three-four-five! I caught a fish alive! Six-seven-eight-nine-ten! I let him go again!” _

_ He paused, there, because the song was meant to be call-and-response, and the next line was therefore Stanford’s, but when he looked over at his twin, he didn’t seem interested. He was staring down at his own hands, folding his digits down one at a time, one-two-three-four-five, leaving his thumb hanging. _

_ “It doesn’t work for me,” he said quietly. _

_ Stanley frowned, drumming the fingers of his free hand against his hip thoughtfully, and then started singing again. _

_ “One-two-three, four-five-six, today I caught a living fish!” _

_ Stanford looked startled, and then grinned. After a thoughtful hesitation, he added, “Seven-eight-nine, ten-eleven-twelve, I threw him back into the depths!” _

_ Above them, Shermie took on the call-response, “Why did you let him go?” _

_ “Because he bit my finger so!” _

_ “Which finger did he bite?” _

_ And both twins chorused at once, “The special one on the right!”, and fell to giggling. _

-/-

“Bill,” Stan said, as Ford- as what he’d  _ thought _ was Ford- approached him. “What are you doing?”

“Oh, you know, the usual,” and now that Stan knew to listen he could hear the shift in Ford’s voice, the high tone and the manic undercurrent. He felt his fists clenching at his sides, the need to swing out and protect his brother coursing through him. “Ruining lives, causing pain, possessing good ol’ Sixer here to use as my willing puppet in my goal of entering your dimension and taking it for my own, going fishing.” He grinned wider. “What’s the matter, Goldfish? Did you think that unicorn magic was going to keep me away forever? Six-fingers did. He thought he’d beaten me.”

To be honest, Stan hadn’t even realized Bill was why they had the unicorn barrier up. Ford had said it would contain the consequences of building the portal, and said nothing of Bill.

“Look, Cornchip-” Two could play the game of using degrading nicknames based on snackfoods, thanks very much, “-I’m still playing catchup with all this magic and supernatural stuff. Apparently Ford didn’t think you were important enough to mention.”

Bill cackled. “Or he didn’t trust you enough to tell you the most basic parts.”

Stan decided not to let on that he’d been thinking exactly that. Instead he glowered. “Get out of my brother.”

“Oh, no way, Goldfish. Do you have any idea how long I’ve been waiting for Sixer to let me back in?” He tilted his head to the side, a terrible mirror of one of Ford’s habits. “Since he’s never deigned to tell you about me, would you like to hear about our history from  _ me _ ?”

“No, what I’d  _ like _ is for you to get the  _ hell _ out of my brother.”

“It’s such a tragic tale, though!” He giggled. “Stop me if you’ve heard this one before- me and Sixer were partners, we worked together and shared  _ everything _ , as thick as thieves, closer than two peas in a pod- and then one day, he decides he’s too good for me! Everything we’d worked to build, and he wants nothing to do with it anymore. Buuut,” he shrugged, “He did promise me unlimited access to his body while he slept before then, and I have no intention of letting him out of our deal so easily.”

Stan punched him.

It was the only tool he had, really. At the end of the day, he responded to situations by either punching or talking his way out of them, and there was no talking his way out of a situation with Bill.

Bill didn’t even try to dodge Stan’s fist, and when Stan pulled back and shifted into a boxer's stance, Bill grinned at him. The blood pouring down Ford’s face and the unnatural grin only served to make him look more deranged than he had.

Bill shrugged- “Well, if that’s how we’re doing this,” -and tackled Stan to the dock.

His shoulders slammed the wood but he shifted his hold and rolled, gaining the upper hand and punching Bill once more. No doubt Bill intended to count on Stan’s unwillingness to hurt his brother, but he had another think coming if he thought that would help. Stan had fought Ford all the time as kids, he knew all of Ford’s weaknesses and his limits, and was fully prepared to use those to his advantage to save him.

In the distance, he heard a shriek of distress, and too late remembered the kids playing on the shore.  _ Shit _ . Mabel had seen him sparring enough that she wasn’t immediately distressed by fighting (actually, she could be a bit bloodthirsty sometimes, he felt), but Dipper was always shy about any kind of violence- even some playful roughhousing with Dan had scared him, so Stan had been careful not to expose him to any after that.

Beneath him, Ford’s face was stretched into another grin, a grin that pulled at the split skin on his lips. “Well well well well well well well. Sounds like little Pine Tree’s not too happy with you,” and leaned his head back enough that he could surge forward and crack his forehead against Stan’s face, smashing his nose and loosening his hold enough that Bill could roll them and pin Stan to the ground. Blood dripped from Ford’s chin to mingle with Stan’s, and Stan couldn’t be sure which of them the whistling noise was coming from.

Probably him. It seemed to be in time to his own uneasy breaths.

“Your kids are pretty cute, Goldfish,” Bill said. “I think I might go kill one of them, just for the heck of it.”

Stan's blood ran cold. “Don’t you dare.”

“No?” Bill giggled. “What’s in it for me if I don’t?”

But Stan didn’t respond. There was a shadow moving behind Bill, limping slightly with a bat held over its shoulder. Stan’s eyes flickered to the shadow unwillingly, and Bill saw the distracted shift and frowned. He turned in confusion-

“ _You_!”

“Me,” the figure said calmly, and swung.

-/-

Stan was on his feet as quickly as Ford was knocked aside. He placed himself between his brother and the stranger, fist raised again. “All right, pal,” he spat. “Touch my brother again and I’ll do worse to you.”

The stranger spared him a glance- and suddenly Stan knew who the man was. His eyes widened.

“...you’re their grunkle,” he said, realization dawning, and got a nod for his trouble. He glared. “What are you doing here? Come to take them home?”

“They are home. I’m here for Bill.”

Stan spared a glance to his brother. “...not while he’s in Ford.”

“Relax. I’m not going to hurt him.” He reached into his pocket and took out… handcuffs?

Fluffy pink handcuffs.

Okay.

All right then.

“What are you going to do with those?”

“Make sure he doesn’t fight back.” Without warning, he sidestepped Stan- faster than Stan could even process- and knelt at Ford’s side. He rolled him enough to get his hands behind him, handcuffing him before standing and throwing Ford over his shoulder in the most casually effortless fireman’s carry Stan had ever seen. “The barrier at the Hut will exorcise Bill from his body. Come on. Get the kids.”

_ Shit _ , the  _ kids _ ! Stan hurried to the shore, temporarily forgetting everything in his effort to get to them. They were huddled together on the shore, obviously frightened, but neither shrank away from him when he scooped them into his arms and held them close, which he counted in his favor. At least they still knew they could trust him.

“I’m so sorry I scared you,” he said quietly, clinging. “We’re going home now. We’ll take care of this.”

Would they even be safe at home? What if Bill possessed Ford again? Everyone kept talking about that damn unicorn magic barrier but what if it failed? What if Bill found a way through? Still, Stan wasn’t letting either of them out of his sight any time soon. He stood, lifting both of them with him, and when he looked around, the man in black was gone. He frowned. Where…?

-/-

In Ford’s mindscape, Bill was seething.

Ford, on the other hand, looked smug.

“You underestimated him,” he said.

“I didn’t think he’d actually attack you,” Bill groused. He folded his ridiculous stick arms, and gave Ford a sly look. “On the other hand, it’s not surprising. He doesn’t usually mind about hurting you.”

“Your attempt to sow discontent won’t work, Bill,” Ford said, folding his own arms. “We’ve dealt with that argument already. It’s in the past.”

“Oh, please.” Bill rolled his eye. “You can tell yourself that all you want to, but as long as you play the dutiful second twin, you’re going to do all of my work for me. Once that resentment builds up enough, you two will be at each other’s throats again, easy peasy.”

“Why do you care?” Ford asked, ignoring the implications of Bill’s words. He and Stan were  _ fine _ . He wasn’t playing a dutiful second twin just because he was giving Stan some extra concessions. He was just trying to be a better brother, make up for his past mistakes. And Bill wouldn’t understand that, and he was a manipulative liar, and Ford would do well to remember all of those facts.

“I don't think you understand just how much I hate your dumb brother," Bill said. "I want him to suffer. I want to  _make_ him suffer.  That’s all. Whoops, there’s my cue to leave. See you around, Sixer.”

And with that, he vanished, pulling himself from Ford’s body and regranting him control. Ford snapped awake.

He was being carried. A pair of thick, muscular arms held him tossed over a broad shoulder, and his face- which hurt, immensely- was pressed into the fabric of a worn and faded black cloak. A pair of muddy boots were visible beneath it, and he watched them stamp-stamp-stamp unevenly across the porch and through the door. Beyond, the barrier that surrounded the house was fading back into invisibility.

So that was why Bill had left.

Ford was set carefully, gently, almost lovingly onto the couch, and then the sound of heavy footsteps told him the man had vanished into the kitchen. There was, in the distance, the sound of someone rummaging through the cabinets, and the water turning on. Ford sank down into the couch, relief coursing through him. He was safe, he knew it deep in his bones.

For now, he was safe.

-/-

Stan went through the kitchen door when he got home, still carrying the kids. His guess had been right; the man in black was there at the sink, back turned to them while he ran water over something in his hands. His cloak and goggles and gloves had been draped over the table, his bat leaned against the cabinet, but he was still wearing his stupid sci-fi longcoat, and a red hat topped over shaggy grey hair. Stan tightened his grip on the kids unconsciously, staring at the broad back in front of him.

Some part of him registered that the man in black had a chunk of cartilage missing from his left ear, and he tried to decide how he felt about that.

“Where’s Ford?” Stan asked, tightening his hold on the twins as they tried to wiggle free.

“In the living room,” the man said, and held out the rag he’d been damping in silent offering. Stan set the kids down to take it, doing his best not to look at the man’s  _ face _ , and went into the living room while the kids called delighted greetings and leaped into the man’s arms.

Ford was sitting on the couch, leaning forward slightly and using the tail of his shirt to catch the blood dribbling freely from his nose. Stan dropped the damp rag onto him and then stood, arms folded across his chest while Ford cleaned himself up.

His glasses were sitting on the couch next to him. Stan noticed dimly that they had a crack in them, and then turned his attention back to Ford.

“Tell me you didn’t make a deal with a demon, Ford,” he begged, when Ford looked up at him. Ford winced, and looked away. Stan’s arms fell down to his sides. He’d hoped that Bill was lying- but here Ford was, looking guilty and staring at the floor. “Seriously? A  _ demon _ ?”

“He tricked me!” Ford protested. “He said he was a muse, that he was here to help me discover knowledge.”

“And you  _ believed _ him?” Stan rolled his eyes. “New question: when exactly were you planning to tell me that he could take over your body as soon as you fell asleep outside of the barrier?”

There was a long, uncomfortable silence, and, “I wasn’t going to,” Ford admitted, looking away again.

“What?! Are you fucking kidding me?” Stan grabbed the front of Ford’s shirt and yanked him up so they were level. “A demon can take over your body if you sleep outside the barrier, and you didn’t trust me enough to tell me?! You put us all in danger-  _ my children live in this house, Stanford _ !” He pushed Ford back onto the couch and backed away, hugging his arms around himself. He felt sick. “He was going to kill one of them. Do you realize that?  _ Just for the heck of it _ , he said!”

Ford looked stunned. “I’m sorry,” he said weakly.

“Oh, god,” Stan said, pacing angrily. “He was going to kill one of them. And I wasn’t sure if I could stop him! Not without doing something permanent. If- if that guy hadn’t been there, he’d have killed one of them. Or I’d have had to- to- look, I just-” He stopped, and tried to take a few breaths, but his lungs didn’t want to cooperate. “I can’t deal with this. I don't know how to deal with this. How are we going to deal with this?”

“Project Mentem,” said a rough voice in the doorway. Stan looked up, and then snapped his gaze back to Ford rather than acknowledge what he was seeing. Heavy footfalls drew the man nearer, and then Mabel and Dipper appeared in front of him, clinging to him worriedly. A damp rag was pressed into his hands. “Go clean yourself up,” the man said. “Hug your kids. Calm down. I need to talk to you brother alone.”

Stan stood where he was, rocking slightly as different reactions warred within him, but when he looked down he saw his kids gazing fearfully up at him and his decision made itself without him. He knelt enough to lift them both up and hurried from the room, disappearing into his bedroom and en suite to deal with the blood still caked on his face.

Everything else, well. He’d deal with that later.

-/-

Ford didn’t have the same qualms about looking the stranger in the face that his brother seemed to. He supposed that made sense, under the circumstances, and he also supposed that ‘stranger’ wasn’t exactly the right word for it. He studied the man’s face openly while he limped over and sank heavily into Stan’s armchair. The man leaned forward on his knees and stared at Ford just as hard as Ford was staring at him, a sad look in his eye.

And the singular was accurate, because he only had one. The other was hidden behind a blacked out lens of his glasses, but the scars peeking out from behind it told him all he needed to know. They weren’t the only scars. A clawmark down his face narrowly missed his other eye. A jagged crater pocked his nose (broken and badly set some time past). There was a poorly healed burn on one jaw.

The only other skin visible, his hands, were no better- gnarled and calloused and at least three fingers had been broken at some point.

The damage told a story, one that Ford was not sure he wanted to know. The untold years between him and the man before him stretched in a wide, gaping chasm that had left the man in his living room a bowed, battered figure. Ford tore his gaze away, staring down at his own hands.

“I’m assuming some form of time travel is involved,” he said.

“That’s why you’re the smart one,” the man replied, leaning back and sinking down into the chair. “You know I wasn’t sure it would work, bringing the kids back. But I had to try. Didn’t exactly have a whole lot of options, really, but I could have taken them anywhen. Your brother would have taken them even without the forged birth certificates, but telling ‘im they were his was easiest.”

“They are Pines, though,” Ford said. It wasn’t a question; he could tell by looking at them. They bore too strongly a resemblance to his family to be anything else. The man nodded, chuckling.

“Oh yeah, they’re Pineses. Just not your brother’s kids. Well, they weren’t.” A smile touched his lips, and then he started laughing, a slightly manic giggle that broke off in a choked sob. He took a shuddery breath. “Made the right call there.”

“What happened to you?” Ford said quietly. He wasn’t sure he wanted to know, but at the same time-

“Got knocked through the portal,” the man grunted. “Spent twenty years wandering the multiverse before my brothers brought me back. Wasn’t a nice time, but they did it. Yeah. Saved my sorry hide even when I didn’t deserve it.”

“Was…” Ford chewed his lip, wanting to ask this question even less but he  _ had _ to know- “Was this  _ my _ fault? Did I do this to you?”

More laughter. “Why’s it always gotta be about you?” One craggy eyebrow raised. “We’re both a couple of idiots, Sixer. Let’s just leave it at that.”

-/-

The kids sat on the edge of the tub while Stan cleaned himself up, Mabel chattering happily about “Grunkle Stan” and how “Papa you’re going to LOVE him” and a disjointed, half-remembered tale of their adventures that had Stan worrying about what kind of life his kids had led before-

Oh.

But they weren’t his kids, were they?

Contrary to what everyone thought, Stan wasn’t an idiot. He knew how to put two and two together and come up with something resembling four, if he had all the numbers in front of him.

His future self was their great uncle. Explicitly, he was their mother’s uncle. They’d spoken about a grandfather, likely either Ford or Shermie. There had been no mention of a father, but that clearly wasn’t Stan. He was just their great-uncle. Not even that, really, not yet. Ford didn’t have kids. Shermie’s hadn’t even hit puberty yet.

But…

He looked over at them. The adoring looks they always gave him, the way Dipper clung to him when he was nervous, the easy affection Mabel showed him when she was happy, the excited chatter and the constant questions and the way they fit so perfectly in his arms, like his arms were made to hold them, like  _ he _ was made to hold them. The word Papa fell from their lips so easily, peppering everything they said with a constant desire for his approval, approval he lavished on them without hesitation. He’d taken them in without question, rewritten his entire universe to revolve around them, had loved them and loved them and loved them until he thought his heart was going to shatter from it-

...they were his. Of course they were his. And if anyone tried to take them away- even himself from the future- he was going to fight tooth and nail with everything he had to keep them. No question.

-/-

Stan had told himself he was putting the kids to bed because it was late, because it had been a long day, because they were tired, and had almost made himself believe it except that… well, honestly, he just didn’t want to go downstairs. He didn’t want to see the scarred, grizzled old man sitting in their living room wearing his face.

As a rule, Stan wasn’t too offput by the thought of his face on someone else’s face. He was a mostly-identical twin; the thought gave him comfort more than anything. More than once in the past decade he’d stared in a mirror and let his eyes unfocus so he could pretend it was Ford standing there, had apologized over and over and over and begged Ford to forgive him, to love him again. Sometimes the Ford of his imagination had done so, assuring that all was forgiven, while still others he’d glared coldly out the mirror at Stan and thrown the words of their father, their teachers, their principal, their childhood tormentors back him.

What he was offput by was his face on  _ his _ face, as if that made sense. His face staring out at him over a chasm of decades- how long? Twenty years? Thirty? Forty? Stan had no idea how to gauge the time passed; were the wrinkles tucked in among his scars from stress or age? His hair was grey, but also full and thick; he’d used his bat as a cane downstairs, but was that old bones or an old injury? Was he a younger old man who’d aged poorly or an older one who’d aged well?

And if he was the result of age, did that mean Stan had that to look forward to? He was a vain man, somewhat, and liked to think he’d eventually grow from a young bear to a silver fox. The man downstairs was… not a silver fox. Stan shuddered. Maybe there was something to that ‘good diet and exercise’ everyone was always going on about.

And of course, he was only thinking about  _ these _ things because it was easier than thinking about… anything else. Like why the man was covered in scars and missing chunks of his body. Like why he’d decided to travel back in time to give his great-niece and -nephew over to his younger self.

Like what the kids had meant when they said their grandfather had “gone away forever”.

Like what happened to his family that he was all they had left.

Stan groaned and buried his hands in his hair, grumbling to himself while he dug at his scalp, trying not to think too hard about, well, any of that, really. He sat down on the end of Mabel’s bed, and she crawled over into his lap, dragging her blanket and pig with her.

“Papa, are you sad about Grunkle Stan?”

Sad wasn’t one of his emotions about the man, he could honestly say. He wrapped his arms around Mabel and held her close, pressing a kiss to her soft, fluffy hair (so much like his, it’d been so easy to believe she was his), and let out a slow breath.

“I’m not sad,” he said. “I’m just worried he’s gonna try and take you kids away.”

“Why would he do that?” Mabel asked. “He brought us here.”

“Yeah, he did.” Stan pulled back and gave her a weak smile. “I just don’t want ‘im to change ‘is mind, is all.”

“But you’re our papa,” Dipper said. 

Stan looked over at him, still snuggled up in his blankets. He opened one arm wordlessly, and Dipper eagerly accepted the invitation, rolling out of bed and hurrying over to clamber up into Stan’s lap beside his sister, who offered him part of her own blanket. Stan tightened his hold on them both wordlessly, not trusting himself to speak.

“I don’ wan’ Grunkle Stan to take us away either,” Mabel said, snuggling down into the warm cocoon created by Stan’s arms and the blanket. Dipper nodded.

“Wanna stay here.”

Stan beamed. He had no intention of giving them up without a fight, but if they’d wanted to leave, he knew he wouldn’t have been able to make them stay. It would have ripped him to shreds, but he’d have let them go anyway.

“All right, you gremlins,” he said, once he could finally speak again. “I gotta go see what your ol’ grunkle is here for, so why don’t you get to bed, okay?”

He got them settled, then kissed them each goodnight and headed downstairs. Time to get some answers.

-/-

“Project Mentem isn’t functional,” Ford said, casting around for a change of subject. “I tried to reprogram it when I found out about Bill but I could never make it work.”

“Ah, well, you didn’t have me then,” the elder Stan said, reaching into his coat and rummaging in various pockets. “I snagged the plans before I left, knew my Sixer hadn’t gotten the programming right till after I left- I know they’re in here som- there we go.” He’d taken out a stack of papers, well worn and crumpled but written obviously in Ford’s handwriting. When Ford reached out for them, the elder Stan pulled them back, out of reach. “You’re only  _ borrowin’ _ these, got it?”

“What? Yes, all right. No problem.”

Elder Stan looked down at the papers, then smoothed out one of the folded corners before handing them over. Ford blinked down at them. There were grubby fingerprints all over them, they had been wrinkled badly, and there were places where the text seemed to have been worn out, as if someone had rubbed at it a lot.

There were new questions queueing up in Ford’s mind, but he decided not to ask these. He had a feeling he knew what the answer was. Instead, he read over the codes and plans as a distraction, and then laughed.

“Of course! It’s so simple! Why didn’t I think of it already?”

“Can’t be expected to think of everything. How quickly can you get the programming done?”

“Oh, in a few hours, maybe less. And you’re certain it will keep Bill from possessing me?”

“Not quite,” Stan said. “It’ll stop him from reading your thoughts, but you’ll still be vulnerable if you fall asleep outside of the barrier or let 'im in. This stuff- the barrier, Mentem- all of it is just a bandaid. Bill’s not going anywhere, and he’ll be looking for any opening he can to get what he wants.”

“What can we do, then? I’d… well, I’d like to actually be able to sleep outside of my house. What happens if we have a repeat of today? And Ma and Pa are moving to Piedmont and I’d really like to visit them and Shermie- I can’t exactly take a unicorn barrier with me everywhere just to keep Bill out.”

“You can, actually, but I don’t recommend it.” Elder Stan lifted the end of his shirt to reveal a colorful tattoo spiralling around his middle, interrupted by a rune burned into his hip. “Unicorn blood ink and mercury and moonstone in the brand. Not pleasant, not as powerful, but effective enough for what I needed. As for the rest… I need to know the terms of your contract with Bill. What were your exact words?”

Ford dragged his eyes away from the brand, mouth dry. That looked  _ painful _ . “The exact words? Er…” He hesitated, but he supposed there was no need to hide anything from  _ this _ Stan. He already knew about Ford’s foolish choices, had already paid the price for them in skin and blood and bone. Any judgement he held had already been passed. He just needed details. “Unlimited possession of my body while I’m sleeping, from now until the end of time.”

“ _ Really _ ?” Ford startled, and turned to see Stan- his own Stan- standing in the doorway, fury coloring his face. “ _ Unlimited possession _ , and you  _ didn’t _ think to  _ question _ that? You didn’t think that sounded  _ suspicious _ ?”

“I- I-“ Ford hung his head. Bill had been very good at the flattery, had wriggled his words around in a way that Ford had suggested the terms as a way to assure his trust. It had never occurred to him that Bill was tricking him into the thought until it was too late. “I thought I could trust him.”

Stan made an annoyed noise at that and came over to join them. “The kids are asleep,” he said. “And now I’d like some answers. You’re not takin’ ‘em, by the way. Just in case you were getting any ideas.”

“Don’t worry about that. I brought them to you for a reason,” elder Stan said.

“So long as you know,” Stan said, folding his arms at the same time Ford said, “Yes, let’s start with that reason. What’s going on? I assume you didn’t simply kidnap them for fun.”

“I didn’t kidnap them at all,” elder Stan replied. “If there was anyone else to take care of them, I wouldn’t be here.” He leaned back in the chair, while Stan took a seat beside Ford. “I’m not going to get into the deal with their real parents. I think… I think I may have accidentally meddled them out of existence already, but on the off chance I haven’t, I’d like to keep things that way. Just suffice to say that by the time I stepped out of that portal, they were in the care of my brothers.”

“The portal?” Stan asked, looking quizzically over at Ford, who started shamefully down at his hands. Stan sat back. “...oh.”

“I had a feeling that even in the depths of paranoia, Ford wouldn’t be able to send a man with a child sailing away just to hide a book. From there I trusted  _ you _ to do the rest.” Elder Stan nodded toward Stan in indication. “It was a gamble, but I would never have survived in the multiverse if I wasn’t able to take long odds like that. Besides,” he added. “The timeline I was creating was easily preferable to the one I’d left behind, and even if your Ford  _ did _ still knock you into that portal this time around I had no intention of letting things reach that point.”

“You must have left behind something awful, if you think that leaving them with me when I was sleep deprived and paranoid and would have been reeling from the shock of pushing my brother into an interdimensional portal was preferable.”

“Loads,” elder Stan said, giving him a rather pointy smile. “Because when my Sixer opened that portal to save me, he created a rift that Bill was able to use to enter our dimension. I left behind an apocalypse.”

-/-

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Poor Portal Stan. The multiverse probably would have been a lot kinder to him if that particular brand of old, busted hotness wasn't exactly my type. Sorry Portal Stan. You're just too hot for your own good.
> 
> (I have been sitting on this reveal since before I even started posting this fic to ao3. This reveal is _why_ I decided to post it to ao3. Y'all have no idea how damn excited I am to have finally got here.)


	12. The One Where Stan Saves the Day

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> But in the end, Stan would give anything to keep his brother safe. Even his own life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for the wait! I was very sick over the weekend and was unable to work on this, despite having written it in my head an excessive number of times.

-/-

Ford was… not sure how he was supposed to react to the elder Stan’s revelation. Shock? Horror? Outrage? Smugly say ‘I knew something bad would come from opening the portal’?

Whatever he was feeling, it wasn’t those things. He just kept thinking about the Ford in this other Stan’s timeline, spending twenty years-

...wait. Twenty years? He could understand taking a little bit of time getting the portal functional again, and he could understand waiting a little bit of time for cooldown between activations, but twenty years? What had he been doing up here all that time?

“Okay, so you brought about the end of the world,” Stan said. “And you decided to come back in time to fix it?”

“Pretty much,” elder Stan said. “Didn’t have much reason to stay when I was, and I didn’t want the kids growing up in an apocalypse anyway. Not good for the psyche, or something.”

“Wait, back up.” Stan frowned. “The kids were around for the apocalypse. Why haven’t they said anything about it? And, for that matter, Mabel said she’d never been here before when we got here.”

“That’s because of this,” the elder Stan said, reaching into his coat and taking out what  _ appeared _ to be a gun. He set it carefully on the table while Ford stared at it.

“That’s… how did you get one of these?” He reached over and touched it, then yanked his hand away as though he’d been burned. He gave the elder Stan a horrified look. “You erased their memories?”

“What?!”

“Only their memories of Weirdmageddon,” elder Stan said, ignoring the younger’s outburst. “And Gravity Falls in general. And- okay, I erased pretty much everything that wasn’t me and my Sixer and Shermie. Didn’t… didn’t feel right, erasing that. And they needed to be unfamiliar with things enough that you wouldn’t get suspicious and I didn’t want them being traumatized by memories of the fucking  _ apocalypse _ when they were  _ three _ .”

“You  _ erased _ their  _ memories _ ?”

“Oh, and that reminds me,” he went on. “Fiddleford. I dealt with his weird mindwipe cult while I was waiting around for Bill to make his move but I couldn’t do anything about him. Listen, you gotta do something for ‘im, before he swiss cheeses his own damn mind and ends up living in a dump and raving about trash robots that he forgot building.”

“I’m sorry, back up to the part where this thing  _ puts holes in minds _ and you still decided to  _ use it on my kids _ !”

“They’re fine.”

Stan made a strangled noise of irritation, and then got up and stormed out. His older self watched him go impassively, then turned back to Ford. “What’s on your mind?”

“Why did it take twenty years to get you back?”

“Eh? Whazzat?” He raised an eyebrow, then shrugged. “Dunno. Never bothered to ask.”

Which, Ford might not be as good at reading people as Stan was, and after a decade of estrangement and now two more of Stan surviving the multiverse, Stan was now a closed book to him, one of those kinds of books that you put a padlock on and then chain up in a box and drop down into the bottomless pit and hope it never gets spat back out, he was about as easy to read as one of  _ those _ now…

But Ford knew a damned lie when he heard one.

He was trying to decide how to wheedle that information out of him when Stan- his Stan- returned, sat down beside him, and gave his counterpart a surly glower.

“So what are we gonna do about Bill?” he demanded.

“I dunno. I know I’m going to kill him, but I’m not sure how yet. I was hoping I’d think of something once I knew the exact terms of the contract but I haven’t thought of anything yet.”

“All right. So what about this Project Mentem thing? Sixer mentioned it when I first got here but dismissed it as an option.”

“That’s because it wasn’t functioning the way I needed it to,” Ford interrupted. He waved the plans at Stan. “I’ve got these now, so I can encrypt my thoughts to keep Bill out.”

“No, not you,” elder Stan said, prompting two identically confused looks. He pointed at Stan. “Him. I may need to follow Bill into your head before this is over with and I’m not shutting that door until I need to. But I need  _ his _ mind safe.”

Stan looked stunned, eyes darting from one of them to the other. Honestly, Ford agreed- Bill had already attacked him once, had not even tried flattery or bargaining, had admitted to wanting to make him suffer… if following Bill into Ford’s mindscape would help them solve things, then Ford would allow the invasion, but he would feel a lot better about everything overall if he was the only potential target.

“So you’re just gonna… what, scramble my brains?”

“In a manner of speaking,” Ford said. He set the plans down on the widest part of the replica skull coffee table and smoothed them out. “You’re familiar with codes, I assume, or at least I hope you remember all of our discussions- not to mention our own codes that we created as children- Project Mentem was originally created as a mind reading device, to allow the user to look into the thoughts of the person wearing it-”

Ford droned on, unaware of the glassy look in Stan’s eye or the slightly sad one in the elder Stan’s, before finally ending with, “So while it won’t scramble your brains in a  _ literal _ sense, it will scramble your  _ thoughts _ in a very metaphorical sense similar to how one might scramble a message. The thoughts will still be there, but they will be incomprehensible to Bill or anyone else looking at them.”

“You’re thinking in Spanish and Bill doesn’t have a tourist’s dictionary,” the other Stan said, and a look of comprehension dawned on his own twin.

He frowned. “I suppose that’s one way of putting it,” he muttered, and ignored the look of solidarity that passed between the two Stans. “I assume once Bill is taken care of I’ll be okay to encrypt my own thoughts as well?”

“Yeah, once we get ‘im out of your head it’s fine.”

“All right. I’m going to go get to work on Mentem, then.” He stood. “The sooner we get it working the better, and in the meantime you can think about your plan or… bond, or something.” He looked between them, his own Stan glowering at the other while the elder watched him go, something unreadable in his eyes.

-/-

Once he was gone, the other Stan stood and reached into his coat again. Stan was expecting more high tech portal gizmos, but what came out was a tarnished silver cigar case and a worn but familiar lighter. He held the case out in offering. “I was gonna get some air. Wanna join me?”

“Sure.” 

Stan took the offered cigar- one of the good ones, the kind you rolled on the thighs of women who presumably liked that kind of thing- and followed his counterpart out onto the back porch. He sat down on the steps, staring out at the woods, while the other him leaned on a pillar. For a long time that’s all there was: the Stans’ cigars burning a pinprick of warmth into the darkness surrounding them, the quiet sounds of two men smoking. Stan didn’t smoke much these days, even before the kids but especially not since the kids, but he did keep a pack of cheap cigars in the car to enjoy on occasion.

“Can I ask you something?” he said suddenly, and got a grunt in response. Sounded like a yes to him. “The uh. The Ford on your end of history. He’s dead, isn’t he?”

This got him another grunt. He sensed rather than saw the other Stan pull his coat tight around him, shrink in on himself. His mouth went dry. He’d suspected, but having it confirmed- at least now he understood why this Stan kept looking at Ford like that. Like he was trying to memorize every inch of his face.

He reached up and ran a hand through his hair.

“That uh. That’s rough, buddy.”

His response was a mad, slightly deranged giggle, a choked, broken off noise at the end. Not a sob; Stan was more of a crier than he was willing to admit but he suspected his elder self had cried all the tears his body could produce long ago. It was a noise of anguish, of shattering, of nothing left, of no reason to stay.

Stan could feel that noise deep in his soul, and it made him want to go down to the basement and cling to his brother for a very long time.

They fell silent again. Stan finished his cigar and stubbed out the end, and, “I gotta ask you something else.”

He got another grunt.

“The uh. Is there a particular reason we can’t use this Mentem thingummy on Ford, and just call it a day? I mean, it’ll stop him from getting possessed, right?”

“Apparently it’s what my Ford used, once he realized the weaknesses in the unicorn barrier.”

“So. So not using it on him now- that’s just because you need him so you can beat Bill, isn’t it?”

Because Stan had heard the way his other self referred to Ford as a door he wasn’t willing to close yet. And he didn’t like it.

Above him, the other him was silent, for so long that Stan wondered if he’d nodded off, and then he said softly, “I’m going to kill him.”

“Bill?”

“I’m going to kill him,” he repeated, stronger this time. “I’m going to find a way to make him burn. I don’t care what it takes. Bill signed his own death warrant when he killed my brothers. So I’m going to make him burn!”

This last was punctuated by a cracking sound, and Stan spun, wide-eyed, to realize he’d punched the pillar he was leaning against.

Stan had a good, solid punch. He’d developed it protecting Ford on the playground and honed it protecting himself on the road. It had gotten him out of more than one tight spot over the years and given him a slightly more honorable way to earn money than some of his other, shadier means. It had even been good enough to lay Dan out once or twice, when he was cheating.

Twenty years in the multiverse had given his counterpart a punch that could splinter solid wood. Stan stared at the crack in the pillar and knew two things:

One, he did not want to be on the receiving end of that punch, and

Two, he was still not going to stand by and let his brother be used as bait for a grudge, no matter how well he understood the reasons behind, no matter that he knew he’d do the same.

“You’re not doing it,” he said quietly.

“You think you can stop me?”

“No. But you know I’m going to anyway.” He stood, and stared unblinking into the other’s eye, stabbing an angry finger in his direction. “You’re not using him as bait. You’re not using him for your grudge. I won’t let you hurt him. So keep your damn plan to yourself!”

And with that he turned on his heel and stormed back into the house. He was tempted to leave his counterpart locked outside, but knew it would be fruitless. If he wanted into a place, there wasn’t much that would keep him out, and the old man had years of experience on him in the matter. He’d just let himself back in either way.

Instead, he went into the kitchen to make coffee for Ford, and was unsurprised when mere moments later he heard the door open and close and the sound of uneven footsteps thumping through the house to the living room.

-/-

Once Stan got the coffee made, he took it down to the lab, and then stood there looking baffled when he found it completely devoid of his brother. He set the coffee down on the stripped out console from the portal and moved deeper into the lab, looking for him.

“Ford?” He pushed open the door to the main portal room. “You in here, bro?”

The room was empty as well. Stan took a moment to stare at the skeleton that was all that remained of the portal- a half-dismantled frame, some of its guts hanging out and the rest vanished- and shuddered. The thing gave him the heebie-jeebies, even in pieces like this. His counterpart had gone through it, apparently, an alternate timeline version of his brother had spent twenty years trying to get him out.

(Stan wasn’t sure why it took twenty years, but he had a guess. He didn’t want to think about it.)

“Well good riddance,” he said, throwing up a lewd hand gesture before retrieving the coffee ad turning back toward the lift. Maybe Ford had come back up into the house while he and the other guy were outside smoking.

He was just about to hit the button for the lift when he heard it rattle into place, and the doors opened to reveal Ford inside.

“Ah, Stanley, I thought it might be you when I heard the lift.”

“I mean, there’s only two guesses and both of ‘em are me,” Stan said. “Where’ve you been?”

“In my study. It’s above the lab. Did you need something?”

“Was bringing ya coffee,” Stan said, gesturing vaguely with the mug in his hand. “Thought ya might need it. You have a study above the lab?”

“The second level from the lift. You didn’t wonder about it?”

“Don’t come down here enough.” He shrugged, and handed over the coffee; Ford took it and downed half the mug in one go. Stan shoved his hands into his pockets. “Hey, uh… are you sure about this? I mean… you could use this thing to protect you from Bill too, and we wouldn’t have to worry about it.”

“It’s not that simple, I’m afraid.” He downed the last of the coffee and set the mug down, then beckoned for Stan to follow him. “I dismantled the portal, and Bill can’t enter the house, but he’ll stop at nothing to get what he wants. If your counterpart has a plan to stop him permanently, I’m willing to go through with it.”

“So what, you’re willing to be bait if you gotta? That’s bullshit!”

“It’s really not.” They’d reached the second floor study; Stan followed Ford inside, looking around curiously. The place looked more like a shrine than a study, but there were filing cabinets and the far end was dominated by some kind of control panel with a lot of screens. “Besides, I trust you- any version of you- with my life.”

“I’m not so sure that’s a good idea,” Stan said, hunching in on himself. “That guy up there- he’s- look, I just don’t want you getting hurt, okay? I don’t think I’d be okay if I lost ya again, not when I just got ya back.”

“You aren’t going to lose me. And even if you do-”

“His Ford is dead.” Stan stared hard at his twin, silently begging him to understand. “You picked up on that, right? His Ford died. That’s why he’s doin’ all this. It’s not about- about protecting us, or even stoppin’ a threat, or changing the timeline. It’s revenge, simple as that. An’ I don’t  _ blame _ ‘im cause I’d do the same thing in his position but  _ I don’t want to be in his position _ . I couldn’t handle it. If I lost ya-”

“You’d be fine,” Ford said. He ignored Stan’s protestation. “No, you would. Not immediately, but in time. You have others there to help you through- you have the kids, you have Dan and Lila and Tyler, Maria and Fina, Susan, the kids at the library and the regulars at the diner, you have so many people who would be there to support you and, whether you accept it now or not, eventually you would be fine. You’d keep moving forward with your life, as it should be.” 

Stan folded his arms and looked away at that, and Ford rested a hand on his shoulder. 

“The other you doesn’t have that. He’s alone, because the few connections he made, he lost. Because of me.  _ I _ did that- or a version of me. Everything Bill did and does in our world now is my doing. And our timelines may have diverged, but the bulk of the blame still lies on my shoulders. If this is the price I have to pay-”

“Ya ain’t payin’ it. Not for me, especially. Any version of me.”

Ford gave him a sad look. “Stan, did it occur to you that perhaps I have my  _ own _ grudge to bear with Bill as well?”

“Eh?”

“He tricked me. I summoned him, despite warnings, and that’s my own blame, but Bill was… very good at manipulation. We worked together for years, and he preyed on every weakness I had. I may have allowed it, but Bill still took advantage of my trust. He tried to use me to destroy the world. I want to defeat him just as much as your counterpart does.”

“Yeah, well.” Stan stared down at the floor. He should have been here, he was supposed to protect his brother from people who’d hurt him. Wasn’t that what he was for? “Just don’t see why you gotta use yourself as bait, is all.”

“I may not. It’s only a possibility.”

“Yeah, well.” Stan took a deep breath. “As long as you aren’t protected, I won’t be either. If there’s a reason to let Bill into my head instead, let’s not close that door, either.”

“I rather hope it doesn’t come to that.” Stan gave him a pointed look, and Ford sighed. “Very well. We’ll leave that avenue open as well.”

-/-

The other Stan was gone when they got upstairs, but a quick look around turned him up in the attic, leaned against the door to the twins’ bedroom asleep. He’d taken his glasses off, and the mess of scars where his eye should be made Stan shudder. Then he sighed and went downstairs, and came back up a minute later with a blanket and a pillow. He left them sitting next to the man, and headed back downstairs, taking heavy enough steps to wake him as he did.

-/-

Ford listened as Stan headed into his bedroom, and waited a few minutes for him to settle before slipping out of his room and down to the tv room. He grabbed the phone from its cradle and, after listening to ensure the house was still quiet, dialed.

It rang a long, long time before there was a click on the other end, and a sleepy, “McGucket speakin’,” on the other end.

Ford panicked and slammed the phone down without a word. Okay. No idea what he’d hoped to accomplish by doing that, but, well. Clearly he wasn’t going to accomplish it tonight.

Another time, maybe.

_ Before he swiss cheeses his own mind _ …

Another time  _ soon _ , then.

Once they’d taken care of Bill.

-/-

Everyone was sleepy next morning over breakfast.

Well, everyone but the kids, who despite their late bedtime were still full of bright, cheerful energy when they half-ran, half-tumbled down the stairs. Ford was making breakfast this morning, while Stan disappeared into the tv room to make a phone call. He returned just in time for the plate of French toast Ford put in front of him, and by the time breakfast was over, there was a knock on the door.

“It’s open!” Stan hollered, and a moment later Fina came in.

“Morning,” she said. “I hear there’s two squirts who need taking care of for the day?”

“Finaaa!” the kids cheered, hurrying to leap at her. 

“Fina, come meet our Grunkle!” Mabel said, taking her hand and tugging her toward the table. She made a motion like she was Vana White presenting the newest prize showcase at the elder Stan, who paused with his food halfway to his mouth, stunned. “This is Grunkle Stan!”

“Your grunkle? The one that’s a twin, too?”

“Wait, you know about this?” Stan asked. Fina looked confused.

“Yeah, Dipper and Mabel talk about this guy and his brother all the time. But I thought he was their mom’s family?”

“It’s uh. It’s complicated,” Stan said, looking away. “Look, me and Ford and, uh, this guy, we gotta take care of something. You sure you don’t mind watchin’ the kids today?”

“No problem, those short-notice rates are gonna buy me a ticket to Woodstick this summer.”

“Whoah, hold on, who said anything about short-notice rates?”

“What, you think I’m gonna cancel my plans for the day at the last second by paying me my usual rates?”

“What rates? I don’t normally pay you at all!”

“This could take awhile,” Ford said to the other Stan, as Stan and Fina disappeared into the other room. “They like to negotiate. I think it’s a hobby for them. Did you think of a plan yet?”

“I got one,” he said. “I’m gonna transfer your contract with Bill over to me.”

“How will that help?” Ford asked. “It’ll get him out of my head, yes, assuming you even convince him of it, but how will that make things any different than they are now? He’ll still be a problem.”

“Because once he’s in my head, you’re gonna use this to get rid of him,” he said, reaching into his coat.

-/-

Once Stan and Fina finally managed to agree to a price, and Fina had taken the kids, Stan returned to the kitchen looking satisfied. As soon as he saw the look on Ford and the other guy’s faces, his own mood dropped.

“Oh,” he said. “You thought of a plan, huh.”

“I don’t like it,” Ford said. “But it’s all we’ve got.”

“We need to leave the protection of the barrier for it to work,” the other Stan said. “All right, let’s go. No reason to put things off.”

“No,” Ford sighed. “I suppose not.”

-/-

“So here’s the deal,” the other Stan said, once they’d moved outside the barrier. “I’m gonna get Cipher to transfer your contract to me. I could make a deal with him outright, but that’d leave you still vulnerable to him. My way gets him out of our hair for good.”

“Not that I’m complaining, but how is you havin’ the contract any different than Ford havin’ it? That just means you’re the one we have to deal with, and to be honest, I like my odds fighting him a lot better.”

“You won’t have to,” the other Stan assured him. “Because of this- you’ll need to do this part, I want to restrain Stanford while I’m dealing with Cipher, just in case.”

“That makes sense,” Ford agreed, while Stan gave him a Look. He returned it with one of his own. “It’s just a precaution, Stanley. It’ll be fine.”

Stan groaned. “You two are gonna give me an ulcer, I swear.” He folded his arms. “Fine, fine. So what do I do?”

“I’ve already put in the necessary settings.” The other Stan handed over the device, then reached into his coat again and took out the fuzzy pink handcuffs. “All you have to do is hit the trigger. Here, these’re industrial strength, they’ll hold you even if Cipher tries to dislocate something.”

Stan made a strangled noise, but Ford was eyeing the handcuffs uncomfortable. “Why… do you have those?”

“Because sometimes you wanna do weird stuff with your eight foot reptilian lover and regular strength just won’t hold up.”

“...I regret asking.”

“Damn straight ya do.”

Stan huffed and paced irritably while his other self cuffed Ford, double-checking the cuffs himself once they were in place. He gave his other self a knowing look.

“So what’s the real reason you got these?”

“You don’t believe me?”

“I know what gets me off and that ain’t it.”

“Hmm.” He chuckled at the glower Ford was sending him. “When you’re being hunted through the multiverse by a dream demon whose main trick is possession, it pays to have really strong means of restraint. But the eight food reptilian lover was the sales-pitch Dirty Kevin used when he sold me these-”

“Dirty Kevin?”

“My dealer. Nice guy. Terrible fashion sense. Really into the weird stuff. All right, one last thing. When Cipher transfers to me, you’ll have about a minute of disorientation before he’s able to take full control. That’s when you make your move. Don’t  _ wait _ . Just do it.”

He shoved the solution into Stan’s hand, and gave him a firm look. After a long, tense silence, Stan nodded. “All right.”

“Right.” He took a deep breath. “Showtime.”

-/-

Ford had expected the other Stan to do a proper summoning, but instead he took a candle out of his pocket, lit it with a familiar lighter, and held it up before calling, “Cipher! I know you’re out there! Get your worthless triangle ass out here! I wanna make a deal!”

Ford held his breath, but there was no reaction. The other Stan narrowed his eyes, and glowered at the world in general.

“You ain’t gettin’ a ritual outta me, Cipher! Just come out before I get bored!”

Another pause, and then a hush fell over the world, as color bled from everything and they found themselves in a grey, washed out landscape. On the house behind them, in its protective bubble, retained its color.

Around them, high laughter filled the air, and a slit appeared, then grew and shifted to form Bill. Ford narrowed his eyes.

“Bill.”

“What’s up, Sixer! Didn’t expect to see you again so soon. Yeesh, you look horrible! Your bro there sure did a number on ya, didn’t he?”

“No worse than the number I’m gonna do on you, Cornchip!” Stan growled, throwing a punch at Bill and wobbling a little as he passed through. Bill chuckled.

“Nice try, Goldfish, but I’m not corporeal in your world! I mean, if you really want to have a go at me, you could always get Six-fingers here to rebuild that portal and open ‘er up for me.”

“Not happening, Cipher,” the other Stan said. Bill turned his eye to him instead.

“Well well well, whatta we have here? It’s the other Goldfish from all the way in the future! So what brings you back to the past, Goldfish Number Two?”

“You know why I’m here.”

“To change the future, I imagine. Well, let’s here it. What’s your grand plan to beat me and fix everything?”

“I’m taking over my brother’s contract.”

Bill looked startled, and his eye slide to Ford. Ford kept his gaze still, steady. The other Stan had not told him the details of his plan beyond the contract transfer and the odd device that would solve things once he held the contract, but who knew what Bill could glean from his mind if he tried? He should have used Mentem on himself, why hadn’t he…?

“Why should I?” Bill asked. “What do you think you can offer me that IQ here can’t?”

“Your ticket out of Gravity Falls.”

Bill’s gaze slid back over to him, and his eye narrowed a little. “You have my attention.”

“Yeah, I thought I might.” He held out his hands, palms up. “One my end of the timeline, you came through the rift the portal created. You took over. You turned the town into your own personal playground.”

“Sounds like a hoot!”

“...and that’s where it ended, because you were stuck.”

“What?” Bill squinted at him. “What do you mean ‘stuck’?”

“I mean, there’s a barrier around this valley that doesn’t allow weirdness to leave. The weirder you are, the harder to leave. You can ask Sixer about it, it’s the reason he’s the laughing stock of the scientific community.”

They all looked over at Ford, who felt his cheeks heating. “It’s true,” he muttered. “Weirdness is drawn to this town like a magnet, and it doesn’t leave easily.  _ You _ would have no hope of getting out.”

Bill glowed red for just a moment before turning his attention back to the other Stan. “Okay. You said you could help me leave once I get here?”

“There’s a formula. This Sixer hasn’t found it but mine had, and I know it.”

There was a long moment while the two stared each other down, and then Bill started giggling. “Oh, please! You think I believe any version of old Six-fingers here would tell  _ you _ that information?”

“He didn’t tell me. I found it written down in one of his journals.”

“And  _ now _ you think I believe you’ll just hand me that information?”

“Why not? It’s the only bargaining chip I got, and if you think about it… look, Gravity Falls is my home. I don’t want you here. And you don’t want to be here. When you really get down to it, we got the same goal, and that’s you leaving Gravity Falls. I’m just making it easier on you, in a way that doesn’t put my family at risk. Transfer the contract to me. I give you the formula, you leave Gravity Falls forever.”

“Hmmm…” Bill turned away and stroked his… what would be his chin… thoughtfully. “I don’t know… I’m pretty sure with the proper motive IQ could find that formula for me.”

“Then why don’t I sweeten the deal?” the other Stan said hastily, a touch of panic in his voice. “No limits about sleep. Permanent possession.”

“Are you crazy?!” Stan asked, taking a half step forward while Bill spun around in glee.

“Now  _ that _ sounds like a deal!” he said. “You would just give up your body like that?”

“Not like I’m using it for anything worthwhile,” he growled. “We got a deal or not, Cipher?”

Bill had no mouth, but Ford could see the non-existent grin all the same. He stuck out his hand, glowing with blue flames.

“It’s a  _ deal _ .”

-/-

Stan had figured out, at the point that the other Stan started talking about ‘permanent possession’, what his plan was. It was so absurdly, deliriously simple, he couldn’t imagine why he hadn’t caught on sooner. But then, he supposed he wasn’t used to thinking of time travel as an option.

As soon as the other Stan shook Bill’s hand, Stan was reaching into one of the many hidden pockets in his coat and taking out the tape measure thingy the other him had handed him. He could recognize the moment Bill was in his head, and shoved it into his chest, hitting the trigger at the last second. There was a hum, and then a flash, and the other Stan vanished.

-/-

There was a long silence, and with a sudden jarring sensation, color and sound returned to the world as they should be. Ford took a deep, gasping breath and hit his knees, Stan only barely managing to catch him.

“Hey, hey, easy. I gotcha. You okay?”

“I… yes.” Ford blinked up at him owlishly. “I… he’s gone. It worked. His plan worked.”

“Yeah.” Stan swallowed and stood. “Looks that way, don’t it?”

-/-

Bill rubbed his hands together gleefully as he slipped into Stan’s mind. He was floating over a beach, the sea lapping lightly at it, a pair of swings creaking gently in the wind. One was broken and shattered, the other worn and falling apart at the seams, held together by tape and glue. In the distance, a pair of sunburnt children played on the wreck of an old sailboat; on the opposite side of the beach, the portal stood, glowing and humming gently.

“Look at this place!” Bill said. “I will definitely be remodeling.”

“I wouldn’t get comfortable if I were you.” Stan settled heavily on the broken swingset, pushing his feet against the sand so that he swayed ever so slightly. “You won’t be here long.”

“Ha! That’s cute, Goldfish! You must not know the exact conditions of Six-fingers’ contract- the one you just took on.”

“Oh, I know. Permanent access to my body, from now-”

There was a flash, and the feeling of being compressed and pulled apart at the same time. Stan was vaguely aware that outside of his mind his clothes were on fire, but ignored that in favor of smirking at Bill.

“-until the end of time.”

“What? No! NO! You can’t be  _ serious _ !” Stan’s mindscape was fragmenting. Bits of it slid away; Bill tried to flee, but Stan jumped to his feet and grabbed his ridiculous stick arm to yank him back, giving him a pointy smile.

“You’re not going anywhere, pal. Permanent, remember?”

Bill’s eye widened as he realized he’d been tricked. 

“What? You can’t be serious! The end of time? But you aren’t even going to exist after this!”

“Yeah? Neither are you pal.”

Bill’s golden shade turned red, his eye glaring angrily. His image distorted, shifting and changing as he sought some means of escape-

-Stan hauled back one fist, and threw a punch that caught him in the eye-

-and time ended.

-/-

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Nearly done, guys! There's just the epilogue left. Then I can get on to posting all those shorts I've got listed to go alongside and hopefully clear up some threads I left hanging in this.
> 
> (Apologies about the Fiddleford plot. I tried, but I genuinely couldn't think of anything to do with that. Fortunately there's a b-side short about Portal Stan's time waiting for Bill to make his move, so that'll touch on him dealing with the Society of the Blind Eye a bit. And there's a short slated about them helping Fiddleford, too, so.)


	13. Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> No more forgetting.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for both the wait and the abrupt end. This is actually the fourth time I wrote the epilogue but everything else I tried ended up trying to become its own new plotline. I've got a lot of new shorts planned now, but this was the only thread I had left to tie up so.

-/-

It was a week later that they finally got hold of Fiddleford, and another week before they convinced him to come to the house. He was scared, and Ford admitted that he didn’t blame him, but he also felt it might be best if Fiddleford could see for himself that the portal was gone, dismantled and no longer a threat to their world.

It was Mabel who answered the door when he knocked; the front door was hanging open and she barrelled at the screen door fast enough to punch a hole in it when she hit it. She ignored this in favor of cuddling Fiddleford’s legs, on the grounds that any situation can be improved by cuddles and that Fiddleford especially looked like he needed some.

“Well that’s a mighty warm welcome, little missy,” he said, leaning down to pat her head. “How are you doing today?”

“I lost a tooth!” she sad, baring her grin at him so he could observe the gap between incisor and canine on her lower gums. He itched at his hands nervously.

“You certainly did! Are ya gonna leave it under your pillow for the tooth fairy to get?”

“No.” She let go of his leg and took his hand, leading him inside. “Uncle Ford says it’s a bad idea to invite fairies to take parts of your body, so Papa gave me a gold coin for it instead and put it in a box.”

“That’s probably smart of him,” Fiddleford agreed, and fell silent as he passed through the door into the house. It was different than the house had looked last time he was there: it was much cleaner, for one, but the addition of Stan and the kids to the home had made it- well, a  _ home _ . It wasn’t just a place to do science anymore, and it showed in every inch of the place, from the clown painting on the wall to the framed crayon scribbles beneath it, to the toys scattered from one end of the house to the other.

Ford was not long in joining them; the familiar panel on the wall opened up and he stepped out, and then froze. Fiddleford froze too, itching at his hands nervously now that Mabel was not holding onto one of them anymore. Ford twitched his own fingers with awkward energy before stuffing them into his pockets, and gave Fiddleford a look that was probably meant to comfort, but really just made him look constipated.

“Fiddleford,” he said quietly. “I um. I-” He cleared his throat, and, “I’m sorry,” he said. “I know you must hate me.”

“I’m angry,” Fiddleford said, one hand coming up to tug and twist at his hair. “But dogged if I can’t remember why. And I, I really miss ya.”

“I’ve missed you too,” Ford admitted. He glanced behind him at the hidden door, then gestured at the kitchen instead. “Why don’t you come have some lemonade with me? I think we have a lot to talk about.”

“I’d really like that,” Fiddleford said, and let Mabel take his hand again while he followed Ford into the kitchen.

It wasn’t perfect. But maybe it could be a start.

-/-

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that's a wrap, folks! A huge thank you to everyone who stuck with me all the way to the end: you're all golden, and I mean that in the good way.
> 
> To everyone who commented, everyone who left kudos, everyone who just read without really interacting in any way: I love all of you, and I'm glad you exist. Thanks for loving my fic as much as (and at times more than) I do, and if you're not ready for it to be over, don't worry! I have a whole list of shorts that still want to be written, and now I don't have to worry about long plotlines and tying things together they'll be a lot easier to hammer out.

**Author's Note:**

> Like this? Want to see more from me? Check me out on Tumblr @grifalinas!


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